[Exit.]

PAROLLES.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me;
scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!--Well, I must be patient; there
is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can
meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a
lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have of--
I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

[Re-enter LAFEU.]

LAFEU.
Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you; you
have a new mistress.

PAROLLES.
I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation
of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my
master.

LAFEU.
Who? God?

PAROLLES.
Ay, sir.

LAFEU.
The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy
arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves? do other
servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose
stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat
thee: methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should
beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe
themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES.
This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU.
Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel
out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller:
you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the
heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are
not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

[Exit.]

PAROLLES.
Good, very good, it is so then.--Good, very good; let it
be concealed awhile.

[Enter BERTRAM.]

BERTRAM.
Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES.
What's the matter, sweet heart?

BERTRAM.
Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
I will not bed her.

PAROLLES.
What, what, sweet heart?

BERTRAM.
O my Parolles, they have married me!--
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES.
France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
The tread of a man's foot:--to the wars!

BERTRAM.
There's letters from my mother; what the import is
I know not yet.

PAROLLES.
Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
He wears his honour in a box unseen
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home,
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions!
France is a stable; we that dwell in't, jades;
Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM.
It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
That which I durst not speak: his present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES.
Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure?

BERTRAM.
Go with me to my chamber and advise me.
I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES.
Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 4. The same. Another room in the same.

[Enter HELENA and CLOWN.]

HELENA.
My mother greets me kindly: is she well?

CLOWN.
She is not well, but yet she has her health: she's very
merry, but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very
well, and wants nothing i' the world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA.
If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very well?

CLOWN.
Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA.
What two things?

CLOWN.
One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly!
The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

[Enter PAROLLES.]

PAROLLES.
Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA.
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good
fortunes.

PAROLLES.
You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on,
have them still. O, my knave,--how does my old lady?

CLOWN.
So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as
you say.

PAROLLES.
Why, I say nothing.

CLOWN.
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out
his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know
nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your
title; which is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES.
Away! thou art a knave.

CLOWN.
You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave;
that is before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

PAROLLES.
Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

CLOWN.
Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me?
The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in
you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES.
A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.--
Madam, my lord will go away to-night:
A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and right of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets;
Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA.
What's his will else?

PAROLLES.
That you will take your instant leave o' the king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need.

HELENA.
What more commands he?

PAROLLES.
That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA.
In everything I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES.
I shall report it so.

HELENA.
I pray you.--Come, sirrah.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 5.  Another room in the same.

[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM.]

LAFEU.
But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM.
Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU.
You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM.
And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU.
Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM.
I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge,
and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU.
I have, then, sinned against his experience and transgressed
against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I
cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you
make us friends; I will pursue the amity

[Enter PAROLLES.]

PAROLLES.
[To BERTRAM.] These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU.
Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES.
Sir!

LAFEU.
O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a
very good tailor.

BERTRAM.
[Aside to PAROLLES.] Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES.
She is.

BERTRAM.
Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES.
As you'll have her.

BERTRAM.
I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
Given order for our horses; and to-night,
When I should take possession of the bride,
End ere I do begin.

LAFEU.
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.

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

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

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

BERTRAM.
It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU.
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
kernal 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 to deserve at my hand; but we
must do good against evil.

[Exit.]

PAROLLES.
An idle lord, I swear.

BERTRAM.
I think so.

PAROLLES.
Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM.
Yes, I do know him well; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

[Enter HELENA.]

HELENA.
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.

BERTRAM.
I shall obey his will.
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. Prepared 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
To 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.

HELENA.
Sir, I can nothing say
But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM.
Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA.
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.

BERTRAM.
Let that go:
My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home.

HELENA.
Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM.
Well, what would you say?

HELENA.
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;
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.

BERTRAM.
What would you have?

HELENA.
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.

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

HELENA.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM.
Where are my other men, monsieur?--
Farewell,

[Exit 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.

PAROLLES.
Bravely, coragio!

[Exeunt.]



ACT III.

SCENE 1.  Florence. A room in the DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two French
Lords, and Soldiers.]

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.

FIRST LORD.
Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
On the opposer.

DUKE.
Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

SECOND LORD.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, since I have found
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

DUKE.
Be it his pleasure.

FIRST LORD.
But I am sure the younger of our nature,
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
Come here for physic.

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 fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to th' field.

[Flourish. Exeunt.]



SCENE 2.  Rousillon. A room in the COUNTESS'S palace.

[Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN.]

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

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

COUNTESS.
By what observance, I pray you?

CLOWN.
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff 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.

COUNTESS.
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

[Opening a letter.]

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

COUNTESS.
What have we here?

CLOWN.
E'en that you have there.

[Exit.]

COUNTESS.
[Reads.] 'I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath
recovered the king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded
her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall 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.]

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

COUNTESS.
What is the matter?

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

COUNTESS.
Why should he be killed?

CLOWN.
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.]

[Enter HELENA and the two Gentlemen.]

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Save you, good madam.

HELENA.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Do not say so.

COUNTESS.
Think upon patience.--Pray you, gentlemen,--
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto 't.--Where is my son, I pray you?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

HELENA.
Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport.

[Reads.] 'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which
never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body
that I am father to, then call me husband; but in such a "then" I
write a "never."
This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Ay, madam;
And for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.

COUNTESS.
I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son:
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.--Towards Florence is he?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Ay, madam.

COUNTESS.
And to be a soldier?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Such is his noble purpose: and, believe 't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS.
Return you thither?

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELENA.
[Reads.] 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS.
Find you that there?

HELENA.
Ay, madam.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply,
Which his heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS.
Nothing in France until he have no wife!
There's nothing here that is too good for him
But only she; and she deserves a lord
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS.
Parolles, was it not?

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much
Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS.
You are welcome, gentlemen.
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?

[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen.]

HELENA.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
Nothing in France until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim: move the still-peering air,
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it;
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all. I will be gone:
My being here it is that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone,
That pitiful rumour may report my flight
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

[Exit.]



SCENE 3.  Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Lords,
Soldiers, and others.]

DUKE.
The general of our horse thou art; and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM.
Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it, for your worthy sake
To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE.
Then go thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM.
This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 4.  Rousillon.  A room in the COUNTESS'S palace.

[Enter COUNTESS and Steward.]

COUNTESS.
Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
Might you not know she would do as she has done,
By sending me a letter? Read it again.

STEWARD.
[Reads.]
'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
  Ambitious love hath so in me offended
That barefoot 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, whilst I from far
  His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
  I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
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 myself embrace to set him free.'

COUNTESS.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!--
Rinaldo, 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 she hath prevented.

STEWARD.
Pardon me, 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.

COUNTESS.
What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.--Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife:
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger:--
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone
He will return; and hope I may that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense
To make distinction:--provide this messenger:--
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 5.  Without the walls of Florence.

[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and
other Citizens.]

WIDOW.
Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose
all the sight.

DIANA.
They say the French count has done most honourable service.

WIDOW.
It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander;
and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother.

[A tucket afar off.]

We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you
may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA.
Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report
of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of
a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

WIDOW.
I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a
gentleman his companion.

MARIANA.
I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is
in those suggestions for the young earl.--Beware of them, Diana;
their promises, enticements, 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
shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade
succession, 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, though there were no
further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

DIANA.
You shall not need to fear me.

WIDOW.
I hope so.--Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie
at my house: thither they send one another; I'll question her.--

[Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim.]

God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound?

HELENA.
To Saint Jaques-le-Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

WIDOW.
At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.

HELENA.
Is this the way?

WIDOW.
Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way.

[A march afar off.]

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.

HELENA.
Is it yourself?

WIDOW.
If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

WIDOW.
You came, I think, from France?

HELENA.
I did so.

WIDOW.
Here you shall see a countryman of yours
That has done worthy service.

HELENA.
His name, I pray you.

DIANA.
The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

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

DIANA.
Whatsoe'er he is,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported, for the king had married him
Against his liking: think you it is so?

HELENA.
Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.

DIANA.
There is a gentleman that serves the count
Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA.
What's his name?

DIANA.
Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA.
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.

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

WIDOW.
Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe'er she is
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.

HELENA.
How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

WIDOW.
He does, indeed;
And brokes with all that can 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.


MARIANA.
The gods forbid else!

WIDOW. So, now they come:--

[Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army,
BERTRAM, and PAROLLES.]

That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.

HELENA.
Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA.
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?

HELENA.
I like him well.

DIANA.
'Tis pity he is not honest? yond's that same knave
That leads him to these places; were I his lady
I would poison that vile rascal.

HELENA.
Which is he?

DIANA.
That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

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

PAROLLES.
Lose our drum! well.

MARIANA.
He's shrewdly vex'd at something.
Look, he has spied us.

WIDOW.
Marry, hang you!

MARIANA.
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Officers, and Soldiers.]

WIDOW.
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

HELENA.
I humbly thank you:
Please it this matron and this gentle maid
To eat with us to-night; the charge and thanking
Shall be for me: and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin,
Worthy the note.

BOTH.
We'll take your offer kindly.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 6.  Camp before Florence.

[Enter BERTRAM, and the two French Lords.]

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

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

FIRST LORD.
On my life, my lord, a bubble.

BERTRAM.
Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

FIRST 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.

SECOND 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.

BERTRAM.
I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

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

FIRST LORD.
I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I
will have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy; we will
bind and hoodwink 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 own 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 soul upon oath, never trust my
judgment in anything.

SECOND 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 entertainment, your
inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

FIRST LORD.
O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design:
let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

[Enter PAROLLES.]

BERTRAM.
How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

SECOND LORD.
A pox on 't; let it go; 'tis but a drum.

PAROLLES.
But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost!--There was excellent
command! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to
rend our own soldiers.

SECOND LORD.
That was not to be blamed in the command of the service; it was a
disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if
he had been there to command.

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

PAROLLES.
It might have been recovered.

BERTRAM.
It might, but it is not now.

PAROLLES.
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.

BERTRAM.
Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur, if you think your
mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again
into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go
on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit; if you speed
well in it, the duke shall both speak of it and extend to you
what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable
of your worthiness.

PAROLLES.
By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

BERTRAM.
But you must not now slumber in it.

PAROLLES.
I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my
dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my
mortal preparation; and, by midnight, look to hear further from
me.

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

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

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

PAROLLES.
I love not many words.

[Exit.]

FIRST 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.

SECOND 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.

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

FIRST 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.

SECOND LORD.
We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was
first smok'd 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.

FIRST LORD.
I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.

BERTRAM.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.

FIRST LORD.
As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

[Exit.]

BERTRAM.
Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
The lass I spoke of.

SECOND LORD.
But you say she's honest.

BERTRAM.
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?

SECOND LORD.
With all my heart, my lord.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 7.  Florence. A room in the WIDOW'S house.

[Enter HELENA and Widow.]

HELENA.
If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

WIDOW.
Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

HELENA.
Nor would I wish you.
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.

WIDOW.
I should believe you;
For you have show'd me that which well approves
You're great in fortune.

HELENA.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay, and pay again
When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolv'd to carry her: let her in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important blood will naught 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.

WIDOW.
Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.

HELENA.
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 pass'd already.

WIDOW.
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 musics 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.

HELENA.
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.

[Exeunt.]



ACT IV.

SCENE 1.  Without the Florentine camp.

[Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush.]

FIRST 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.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

FIRST LORD.
Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

FIRST SOLDIER.
No, sir, I warrant you.

FIRST LORD.
But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?

FIRST SOLDIER.
E'en such as you speak to me.

FIRST 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 one to another, so we seem to know, is to know
straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good
enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. 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.]

PAROLLES.
Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go
home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive
invention that carries it ;they begin to smoke me: and disgraces
have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is
too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and
of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of.

PAROLLES.
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 myself another of Bajazet's mule,
if you prattle me into these perils.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?

PAROLLES.
I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the
breaking of my Spanish sword.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
We cannot afford you so.

PAROLLES.
Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
'Twould not do.

PAROLLES.
Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
Hardly serve.

PAROLLES.
Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadel,--

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
How deep?

PAROLLES.
Thirty fathom.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

PAROLLES.
I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recovered
it.

FIRST LORD. {Aside.]
You shall hear one anon.

PAROLLES.
A drum now of the enemy's!

[Alarum within.]

FIRST LORD.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

ALL.
Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.

PAROLLES.
O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.

[They seize and blindfold him.]

FIRST SOLDIER.
Boskos thromuldo boskos.

PAROLLES.
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'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

SECOND SOLDIER.
Boskos vauvado:--I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue.
Kerelybonto:--Sir,
Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards
Are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES.
O!

FIRST SOLDIER.
O, pray, pray, pray!--
Manka revania dulche.

FIRST LORD.
Oscorbi dulchos volivorco.

FIRST SOLDIER.
The General is content to spare thee yet;
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform
Something to save thy life.

PAROLLES.
O, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
Their force, their purposes: nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.

FIRST SOLDIER.
But wilt thou faithfully?

PAROLLES.
If I do not, damn me.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Acordo linta.--
Come on; thou art granted space.

[Exit, with PAROLLES guarded.]

FIRST LORD.
Go, tell the Count Rousillon and my brother
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
Till we do hear from them.

SECOND SOLDIER.
Captain, I will.

FIRST LORD.
'A will betray us all unto ourselves;--
Inform 'em that.

SECOND SOLDIER.
So I will, sir.

FIRST LORD.
Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE 2.  Florence.  A room in the WIDOW'S house.

[Enter BERTRAM and DIANA.]

BERTRAM.
They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA.
No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM.
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.

DIANA.
She then was honest.

BERTRAM.
So should you be.

DIANA.
No:
My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM.
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.

DIANA.
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.

BERTRAM.
How have I sworn?

DIANA.
'Tis not the many oaths that makes 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
That I will work against him: therefore your oaths
Are words and poor conditions; but unseal'd,--
At least in my opinion.

BERTRAM.
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.

DIANA.
I see that men make hopes in such a case,
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM.
I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.

DIANA.
Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM.
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.

DIANA.
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.

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

DIANA.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-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
Another ring; that what in time proceeds
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

[Exit.]

DIANA.
For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
You may so in the end.--
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she sat in's heart; she says all men
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win.

[Exit.]



SCENE 3.  The Florentine camp.

[Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.]

FIRST LORD.
You have not given him his mother's letter?

SECOND LORD.
I have deliv'red it an hour since: there is something in't that
stings his nature; for on the reading, it he changed almost into
another man.

FIRST LORD.
He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a
wife and so sweet a lady.

SECOND LORD.
Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the
king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I
will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with
you.

FIRST LORD.
When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

SECOND LORD.
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most
chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of
her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks
himself made in the unchaste composition.

FIRST LORD.
Now, God delay our rebellion: as we are ourselves, what things
are we!

SECOND LORD.
Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all
treasons, we still see them reveal themselves till they attain
to their abhorred ends; so he that in this action contrives
against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows
himself.

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

SECOND LORD.
Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

FIRST 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.

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

FIRST LORD.
In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?

SECOND LORD.
I hear there is an overture of peace.

FIRST LORD.
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

SECOND LORD.
What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or
return again into France?

FIRST LORD.
I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his
counsel.

SECOND LORD.
Let it be forbid, sir: so should I be a great deal of his act.

FIRST LORD.
Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled 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.

SECOND LORD.
How is this justified?

FIRST 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.

SECOND LORD.
Hath the count all this intelligence?

FIRST LORD.
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the
full arming of the verity.

SECOND LORD.
I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

FIRST LORD.
How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses!

SECOND 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.

FIRST 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 cherished by our
virtues.--

[Enter a Servant.]

How now? where's your master?

SERVANT.
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.

SECOND LORD.
They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than
they can commend.

FIRST LORD.
They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his
lordship now.

[Enter BERTRAM.]

How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM.
I have to-night despatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's length
apiece; 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 needs:
the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.

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

BERTRAM.
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 has
deceived me like a double-meaning prophesier.

SECOND LORD.
Bring him forth.

[Exeunt Soldiers.]

Has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.

BERTRAM.
No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his
spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

FIRST 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?

BERTRAM.
Nothing of me, has he?

SECOND LORD.
His confession 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.

[Re-enter Soldiers, with PAROLLES.]

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


FIRST LORD.
Hoodman comes! Porto tartarossa.

FIRST SOLDIER.
He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em?

PAROLLES.
I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye pinch me
like a pasty I can say no more.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Bosko chimurcho.

FIRST LORD.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.

FIRST SOLDIER.
You are a merciful general:--Our general bids you answer to what
I shall ask you out of a note.

PAROLLES.
And truly, as I hope to live.

FIRST SOLDIER.
'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say
you to that?

PAROLLES.
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.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Shall I set down your answer so?

PAROLLES.
Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you will.

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

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

SECOND LORD.
I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean; nor
believe he can have everything in him by wearing his apparel
neatly.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, that's set down.

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

FIRST LORD.
He's very near the truth in this.

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

PAROLLES.
Poor rogues, I pray you say.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, that's set down.

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

FIRST SOLDIER.
'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to
that?

PAROLLES.
By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will
tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty, Sebastian, so
many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo,
Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company,
Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the
muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to
fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow
from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to pieces.

BERTRAM.
What shall be done to him?

FIRST LORD.
Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and
what credit I have with the duke.

FIRST SOLDIER.
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, expertness in wars;
or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing
sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.'
What say you to this? what do you know of it?

PAROLLES.
I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the
inter'gatories: demand them singly.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Do you know this Captain Dumain?

PAROLLES.
I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he
was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child: a dumb
innocent that could not say him nay.

[FIRST LORD lifts up his hand in anger.]

BERTRAM.
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are
forfeit to the next tile that falls.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?

PAROLLES.
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

FIRST LORD.
Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon.

FIRST SOLDIER.
What is his reputation with the duke?

PAROLLES.
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.