courfe of all treafons, we ftill fee them reveal themfelves, 'till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; fo he, that in this action contrives against his own nobility, inchis proper stream o'erflows himself.

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be the trumpeters of cur unlawful intents? we fhall 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 fee his company anatomiz'd, that he might take measure of his own judgment, wherein fo curioufly he had fet this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him 'till he come; for his prefence 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.

Lord. Nay, I affure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will Count Roufillon 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! fo fhould I be a great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife fome two months fince fled from his houfe, her pretence is a pilgrimage to St. Jacques le Grand; which holy undertaking, with most auftere fanctimony, fhe accomplish'd; and there refiding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her laft breath, and now the fings in heaven.

2 Lord. How is this juftified?

1 Lord. The ftronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her ftory true, even to the point of her death; her death itself (which could not be her office to fay, is come) was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence?

1 Lord.

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily forry, that he'll be glad of this.

+ Lord. How mightily fometimes we make us comforts of our loffes!

2 Lord. And how mightily fome other times we drown our gain in tears! the great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, fhall at home be encounter'd 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 whipt them not; and our crimes would de fpair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a Servant.

How now ? where's your master ?

Ser. He met the Duke in the treet, Sir, of whom he hath taken a folemn leave: his Lord fhip 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 fweet for the King's tartnefs: here's his Lord fhip now. How now, my Lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night difpatch'd fixteen bufineffes, a month's length a-piece, by an abftract of fuccefs; I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his neareft; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy ; and, between these main parcels of difpatch, effected many nicer needs: the laft was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the bufinefs be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires hafte of your Lordfhip.

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to
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hear of it hereafter. But all we have this dialogue between the fool and the foldier? come, bring forth this counterfeit module; h'as deceiv'd me, like a double-meaning prophefier.

2 Lord. Bring him forth; h'as fate in the ftocks all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber. No matter; his heels have deferv'd it, in ufurping his fpurs fo long. How does he carry himself?

1 Lord. I have told your Lordship already: the ftocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood, he weeps like a wench that had fhed her milk; he hath confeft himself to Morgan, whom he fuppofes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very inftant difafter of his fetting i'th' ftocks; and what, think you, he hath confeft?

Ber. Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord. His confeffion is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your Lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

Enter Parolles, with his Interpreter.

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

Lord. Hoodman comes: Portotartaroffa.

Int. He calls for the tortures; what, will you fay without 'em?

Par. I will confefs what I know without constraint; if ye pinch me like a pafty, I can say no more. Int. Boko Chimur.cho.

2 Lord. Biblibindo chicurmurco.

Int. You are a merciful General: our General bids you answer to what I fhall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live.

Int. First demand of him, how many horfe the Duke is ftrong. What fay you to that?

is

Par. Five or fix thousand, but very weak and unferviceable; the troops are all scatter'd, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.

Int. Shall I fet down your answer fo ?

Par.

Pari Do, Pill take the facrament on't, how and which way you will: all's one to me.

Ber: What a paft-faving flave is this PJON BOO

Lord. Y'are deceiv'd, my Lord, this is Monfieur Paroles, the gallant militarift, that was his own phrase, that had the whole theory of war in the knot of his fcarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.

2 Lord. I will never truft a man again for keeping his fword clean; nor believe, he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly.

1 Inta Well, that's fet down.

ey Bars Five or fix thousand horfe I faid, (I will fay true,) or thereabouts, fet down; for I'll fpeak truth. 1 Lord He's very near the truth in this.

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

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, fay.

Int. Well, that's fet down.

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

Int. Demand of him of what ftrength they are a-foot! What fay you to that?.

Par. By my troth, Sir, if I were to live this prefent hour I will tell true. Let me fee, Spurio a hundred and fifty, Sebaftian fo many, Corambus fo many, Jacques fo many; Guiltian, Cofmo, Lodowick, and Gra tii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each; fo that the mufter file, rotten and found, upon my life amounts not to fifteen thoufand Poll; half of the which dare not have the fnow from off their caffocks, left they fhake themselves to pieces.

Ber. What fhall be done to him

Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the Duke,

Im Well, that's fet down. You thall demand of Edhim, whether one Captain Dumain be i'th camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honefty, and expertnets in wat; or

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whether he thinks, it were not poffible with wells weighing fums of gold to corrupt him to a revolt. What fay you to this?, what do you know of it?

Par. I befeech you, let me answer to the particular of the interrogatories. Demand them fingly. *Int. Do you know this Captain Dumain?

Par. I know him; he was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the theriff's fool with child, a dumb innocent, that could not fay him nay.

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; tho' I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. Int. Well, is this Captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?

Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lowfy.

Lord. Nay, look not fo upon me, we fhall hear of your Lordfhip anon.

Int. 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 the other day to turn him out o'th' band. I think, I have his letter in my pocket.

Int. Marry, we'll fearch.

Par. In good fadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon the file with the Duke's other letters in my tent.

Int. Here 'tis, here's a paper, fhall I read it to you? Pur. I do not know, if it be it or no.

Ber. Our interpreter does it well.

1 Lord. Excellently.

Int: 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 Roufillon, a foolish idle boy; but, for all that, very ruttish. I pray you, Sir, put it up again.

Int. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

Par. My meaning in't, I proteft, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young Count