Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night,

When I should take possession of the bride,-
And, ere I do begin,-

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.-God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur : I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

[Exit.

Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech

Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Helena.

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting; only, he desires

Some private speech with you.

I shall obey his will.

Ber.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,

Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office

On my particular: prepar'd I was not

For such a business; therefore am I found

So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse*, than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself, at the first view,
Το you that know them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a letter.

Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so

I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel.
But that I am your most ohedient servant.

Sir, I can nothing say,

Ber. Come, come, no more of that,

Hel.

And ever shall

With true observance seek to eke out that,

Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd

To equal my great fortune.

Ber.

Let that go:

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home.
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber.
Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I

Well, what would you say?

I owet;

Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber.

What would you have?

Hel. Something; and scarce so much :-nothing,

indeed.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord-'faith,

yes;

Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?—Farewell. [Erit Helena, Go thou toward home; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :Away, and for our flight.

Par.

Bravely, coragio!

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended two French Lords, and others.

Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war;

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom

Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord.

Good

my lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield*,
But like a common and an outward mant,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not

* i. e. I cannot inform you of the reasons.
+ One not in the secret of affairs.

Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail

As often as I guess'd.

Duke.

Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our na

ture*,

That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day,

Come here for physick.

Duke.

Welcome shall they be;

And all the honours, that can fly from us,

Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
When better fail, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rousillon. A room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the rufft, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song. Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he [Opening a letter.

means to come.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court: our old ling, and our Isbels o'the country, are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the court:

As we say at present, our young fellows.
The folding at the top of the boot.

the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-inlaw: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shull hear, I am run away; know it, before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate son,

BERTRAM.

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady.

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your son was run away.

[Exit Clown.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. Do not say so.