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THE

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum

and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles. Duke.

General of our Horse thou art, and

we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promising fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is
A Charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy fakc,
To th' extream edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,
And Fortune play upon thy prosp'rous Helm,
As thy auspicious Mistress!

Ber. This very day,
Great Mars, I put my self into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum; hater of love. [Exeunt.
SCENE changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward.
Count.

you

take the letter of her? Might you not know, she would do, as

the has done,
By sending me a letter ? Read it again.

L E T T E R.
I am St. Jaques' Pilgrim, thither gone ;

Ambitious love bath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,

With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war

My dearest Master, your dear Son, may hie ;
Bless him at home in peace, whilf I from far
His name with zealous fervour Sanctifie.

! and would

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His taken labours bid him me forgive ;

1, bis despightful Juno, sent him fortb From courtly Friends, with camping Foes to live

Where death and danger dog the heels of worth.
He is too good and fair for death and me,

Whom I my self embrace, to set him free.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words ?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus fhe hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon, Madam,
If I had given you this at over-night
She might have been o'er-ta’en; and yet she writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.

Count. What Angel shall
Bless this unworthy Husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heav'n delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rynaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his Wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,

That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief,
Tho’little he do feel it, set down fharply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger;
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that The,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love. Which of them Both
Is dearest to me, I've no skill in fense
To make distinction; provide this messenger ;
My heart is heavy, and mine

and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids mc speak.

(Exeunt.

SCENE

S Ć EN E changes to a publick Place in

FLORENCE.

Tucket afar off. Enter an old widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and

Mariana, with other citizens. Wid.

N

A Y,comc. For if they do approach the City,

we shall lose all the light. Dia. They say, the French Count has done moft ho. nourable service.

Wid. It is reported, that he has ta'en their greatest Commander; and that with his own hand he few the Duke's brother. We have loft our labour, they are gone a contrary way: hark, you may kabw by chtit trumpets,

Mar. Come, let's return again, and fuffice our felves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take head of this French Earl; the honour of a maid is her 'name, and no legacy is so rich as honefty.

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been follicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mar. I know that knave, (hang him!) one Parolles ; a filthy officer he is in thofe suggeftions for the young Earl; beware of them, Diana; (28) their promises, en

(28) Their Promises, Enticements, Oaths, Tokens, and all these Exgines of Luft, are not the Things they go under;-) i. e. They are not in Reality to true and sincete, as in Appearance they seem to be. This will be best explain'd by another Passage in Hamlet, where Polonius is counselling his Daughter.

I do know,
When the Blood burns, how prodigal tbe Soul
Lends the Tongue votos. These'Blazes, oh, thy Daughter,
Giving more Light than Heat, extin&t in Bóth
Evin in their Promise as it is a making,
You must not take for Fire.

In few, Ophelia,
Do not bekede bis Voros, for tey are Brokers
Not of that Dye which their Investments that,
But meer Implorers of unholy Suits,
Breathing, like fan&ified and holy Bawds,
The better to beguile.

ticements,

ticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by them, and the misery is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all That dissuade succellion, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, tho' there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so loft. Dia. You shall not need to fear me,

Enter Helena, disguis'd like a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope fo. - Look, here comes a Pilgrim ; I know, she will lye at my house; thither they send one another; I'll question her: God save you, Pilgrim! whither are you bound?

Hel. To S. Jaques le Grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid. At the St. Francis, beside the Port.
Hel. Is this the way? 3 [ A march afar off,

Wid. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you, they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy Pilgrim, but ''till the troops
come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;
The rather, for, I think, I know your Hostess
As ample as my self.

Hel. Is it your self?
Wid. If you shall please fo, Pilgrim,
Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
Wid. You came, I think, from France ?
Hel. I did so.
Wid. Here you shall see a Country-man of

yours, That has done worthy service.

Hel. His name, I pray you?
Dia. The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; His face I know not.

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is,
He's bravely taken here. He ftolę from France,

As

As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Against his liking. Think you, it is so?
Hel. Ay, surely, meer the truth; I know his lady.

Dia. There is a Gentleman, that serves the Count, Reports but coursely of her.

Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Monsieur Parolles.

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and That
I have not heard examin'd.

Dia. Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detetting lord.

Wid. Ah! right, good creature! wherefoc'er she is, Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A shrewd Turn, if she pleas'd.

Hel. How do you mean?
May be, the at'rous Count sollicites her
In the unlawful purpose,

Wid. He does, indeed;
And brokes with all, that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid :
But the is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honefteft defence.
Drum and Colours. Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and

Soldiers attending.
Mar. The Gods forbid else!

Wid. So, now they come:
That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest sons
That, Escalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman?

Dia. He; That with the Plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow; I would, he lov'd his wife! if he were honester, He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman?

Hel.

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