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Enter Helena, in the dress of a pilgrim.
Wid. I hope so.- -Look, here comes a pil-
grim I know she will lie at my house: thither
they send one another; I'll question her.-
God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound?
Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the way?
Wid.

Ay, marry, is it.-Hark you! [A march afar off 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 myself.

Hel.

Is it yourself?

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O, 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 detesting lord.

Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly this young maid might do
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
[her
How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

Hel.

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SCENE VI.-Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly-promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprize him; such I will have, whom I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his sou! upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enterEnter, with drum and colours, a party of the Flo- tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

Wid.

He does, indeed;

And brokes with all that ean in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:

But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.

rentine army, Bertram, and Parolles.

Mar. The gods forbid else!

Wid.
So, now they come :-
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ;
That, Escalus.

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Enter Parolles.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost-There was an excellent command to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he been there to command. melancholy?

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle.

Par. Lose our drum! well.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet.

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Wid. I should believe you ; Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, mon- For you have show'd me that, which well approves sieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can You are great in fortune. bring this instrument of honour again into his na- Hel. Take this purse of gold, tive quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and And let me buy your friendly help thus far, go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy ex- Which I will over-pay, and pay again, ploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both | When I have found it. The count he woos your speak of it, and extend to you what further bedaughter, comes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, your worthiness. Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it, Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: A ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house, From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Wid. Now I see

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Par. I'll about it this evening and I will pre. sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to hear further from

me.

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par. I love not many words.

[Exit. 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water.-Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than to do't.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto ?

1 Lord. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his fall to-night: for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.

2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be

caught.

Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 1 Lord. As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. [Erit. Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show The lass I spoke of. [you

2 Lord.

But, you say, she's honest.
Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once,
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind,
Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature;
Will you go see her ?
2 Lord.

With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.

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The bottom of your purpose.

Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more,
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter ;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastely absent; after this,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.
Wid.
I have yielded :
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness: It nothing steads us,
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel.

Why then, to-night
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact :
But let's about it.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Without the Florentine Camp. Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush.

1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him; unless some one among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again?

1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me.

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers i'the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak to one another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politick. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

Enter Parolles.

Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill

be time enough to go home. What shall I say I

1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd.

have done? It must be a very plausive invention
that carries it: They begin to smoke me: and dis-
graces have of late knocked too often at my door.
I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart SCENE II.-Florence.
hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures,
not daring the reports of my tongue.

1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of.

[Aside. Par. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it: They will say, Came you off with so little? and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore? what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's mute, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is? [Aside. Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

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1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

[Aside. Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear, I recovered it.

1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. Par. A drum now of the enemy's!

[Aside.
[Alarum within.
1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
Par. O ransom, ransom :-Do not hide mine
eyes.
[They seize him and blindfold him.
1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos.
Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment.
And I shall lose my life for want of language:
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me,

I will discover that which shall undo
The Florentine.

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Ber.

[Exeunt.

A Room in the Widow's House.

Enter Bertram and Diana.

Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontibell.
Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.
Titled goddess;
And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden, but a monument :
When you are dead, you should be such a one
As you are now, for you are cold and stern;
And now you should be as your mother was,
When your sweet self was got.
Dia. She then was honest.

Ber.
Dia.

My mother did but duty;
As you owe to your wife.
Ber.

So should you be.

such, my lord,

No:

No more of that!
I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd to her; but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.
Dia.
Ay, so you serve us,
Till we serve you: but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.
Ber.
How have I sworn?
Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the
truth;

But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
What is not holy, that we swear not by,
But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you,
tell me,
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes,
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
When I did love you ill? this has no holding,
To swear by him whom I protest to love,
[oaths
That I will work against him: Therefore, your
Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd;
At least, in my opinion.

Ber.

Change it, change it ;
Be not so holy-cruel love is holy;
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts,
That you do charge men with: Stand no more off,
But give thyself unto my sick desires,
Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persever.

Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs,
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.
Dia.

Will you not, my lord?
Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors :
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose.

Dia.

Mine honour's such a ring:

My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.

Ber.

Here, take my ring My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham-
ber window;

I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know
them,

When back again this ring shall be deliver'd
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put

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1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?

2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anatomized; that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these

wars?

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France ?

1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid sir! so should I be a great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, led from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished: and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven

2 Lord. How is this justified?

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence?

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this.

1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses!

2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our

virtues.-.

Enter a Servant.

How now? where's your master?

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king.

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. Enter Bertram.

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, a month's length-a piece, by an abstract of success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertained my convoy; and, between these main parcels of despatch, effected many nicer deeds; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier ? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

2 Lord. Bring him forth: [Exeunt Soldiers.] he has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

1 Lord. I have told your lordship already; the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his setting i'the stocks: And what think you he

hath confessed?

Ber. Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I be lieve you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

Re-enter Soldiers, with Parolles.

Ber. A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush! hush!

1 Lord. Hoodman comes! Porto tartarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures; What will you say without 'em?

Par. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye pinch m like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho.

2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco.

1 Sold. You are a merciful general:-Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out

of a note.

Par. And truly, as I hope to live.

1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that?

Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? Par. Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!

1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this is monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.

2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keeping his sword clean; nor believe he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down.

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, I will say true, or thereabouts, set down,-for I'll speak truth.

1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this.

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the ture he delivers it.

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

1 Sold. Well, that's set down.

is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters, in my tent.

1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you?

Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no.
Ber. Our interpreter does it well.

1 Lord. Excellently.

1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold,

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid: for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy; who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry i finds. Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue!

1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold,
and take it;

After he scores, he never pays the score:
Half won, is match well made; match, and well

make it ;

He ne'er pays after debts, take it before;
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
na-For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,
PAROLLES.
Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with
this rhyme in his forehead.

Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor.

1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot. What say you to that?

2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the maPar. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pre-nifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. sent hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Coram bus so and now he's a cat to me.

many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we and Gratii, two hundred fifty each: mine own com-shall be fain to hang you. pany, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am and fifty each: 9 that the muster-file, rotten and afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thou- would repent out the remainder of nature: let me sand poll; half of which dare not shake the snow live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where, from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves so I may live. to pieces.

Ber. What shall be done to him?

1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this captain 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- Dumain: You have answered to his reputation mand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the duke, and to his valour: What is his howith the duke. nesty?

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i'the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke, what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars: or whether he thinks, it were not possible, with wellweighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? what do you know of it?

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the intergatories: Demand them singly. 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain? Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could not say him, nay.

[Dumain lifts up his hand in anger. Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon.

1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day,| to turn him out o' the band: I think, I have his letter in my pocket.

1 Sold. Marry, we'll search.

Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue; for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. Ber. For this description of thine honesty? pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians,-to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place there call'd Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain.

A

1 Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him.

Ber. A pox on him! he's a cat still.

1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

I

Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee

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