uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, | Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :--should be once heard, and thrice beaten.-God save Away, and for our flight. 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;1 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 will2 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.

Ber.

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: 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,
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.
Hel.

Par

Bravely, coragio!

АСТ III.

[Exeunt.

The reasons of our state I cannot yield,"
That the great figure of a council frames
But like a common and an outward man,
By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
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 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 the field.

[Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II. Rousillon. A Room in the Count-
ess'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 ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing. pick his teeth, and sing; I know a man that had Sir, I can nothing say, this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a But that I am your most obedient servant. 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.

Well, what would you say?
Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ;4
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, my lord--

indeed.--

I would not tell you what I would:
'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 ?---Fare-
[Exit HELENA.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come,

well.

To fly the favours of so good a king;
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To pluck his indignation on thy head,

5 i. e. I cannot inform you of the reasons.

6 One not in the secret of affairs: so inward in a contrary sense.

7 Warburton and Upton are of opinion that we should read, By self unable notion.'

9 As we say at present, our young fellows.

9 The tops of the boots in Shakspeare's time turned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding part or top was the ruff. It was of softer leather than the boot, and often fringed.

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 mater?

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 killed?

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 Gent. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle

men,

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?

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of
Florence:

We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.*

Count. 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.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.'
Will you draw near?

2 Gent.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my pass-That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

This is a dreadful sentence !

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
1 Gent.
Ay, madam;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.
Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,3
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?
2 Gent. Ay, madam.
Count.

And to be a soldier?

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

Return you thither? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

1 Gent. "Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which

His heart was not consenting to.

Count. 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?

1 i. e. affect me suddenly and deeply, as our sex are usually affected.

2 i. e. when you can get the ring which is on my finger into your possession.

3 If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself: an ellip-I tical expression for all the griefs that are thine.'

4 This passage as it stands is very obscure; it ap pears to me that something is omitted after much. Warburton interprets it, That his vices stand him in stead of virtues.' And Heath thought the meaning was:-This fellow hath a deal too much of that which alone can hold or judge that he has much in him ;' i. e. folly and ignorance.

5 In reply to the gentleman's declaration that they are her servants, the countess answers--no otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility.

[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen.
Hel. 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,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing 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.

SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, BER-
TRAM, Lords, Officers, 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.

Ber.

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.
thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,1o
As thy auspicious mistress!
This very day,

Ber.

Then go

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:

6 The old copy reads, still-peering. The emen la tion was adopted by Steevens: still-piecing is sull reuniting; peecing is the old orthography of the word. must confess that I should give the preference to stillpacing, i. e. still-moving, as more in the poet's manner. 7 That is the ravenous or ravening lion.

8 The sense is, From that place, where all the advantages that honour usually reaps from the danger rushes upon, is only a scar in testimony of its bravery, as, on the other hand, it often is the cause of losing all, even life itself.

9 So in Shakspeare's 116th Sonnet :
But bears it out, even to the edge of doom.'
10 In K Richard III, we have:

'Fortune and victory sit on thy helm

Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.. [Exeunt. been solicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Pa-
SCENE IV. Rousillon. A Room in the Count-rolies: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions
ess's Palace. Enter Countess and Steward.
Count. 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.

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 V. Without the Walls of Florence. A
Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence,
DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citi-

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

Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service.

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. 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.

1 At Orleans was a church dedicated to St. Jaques, to which pilgrims formerly used to resort, to adore a part of the cross pretended to be found there. See Heylin's France Painted to the Life, 1656, p. 270-6.

2 Alluding to the story of Hercules.

3 i. e. discretion or thought.

4 Weigh here means to value or esteem.

5 Suggestions are temptations.

6 They are not the things for which their names would make them pass. To go under the name of so and so is a common expression.

7 Pilgrims; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry, especially such as had visited the holy places at Jerusalem. Johnson has given

Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.

and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adver saries, 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 So, now they come :- the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, a party of the Flo-
rentine Army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES.
Mar. The gods forbid else!
Wid.

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

Hel.
Dia.

Which is the Frenchman?

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 enter

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 gen-tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here

tleman?

Hel. I like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest: Yond's that
same knave,

That leads him to these places;1 were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Hel.

Which is he?

he comes.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he in your disposition. melancholy?

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

Par. Lose our drum! well.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum se lost!-There was an excellent command! to charge

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something: Look, in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend he has spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Officers,

and Soldiers.

Wid. 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.

Hel.
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 on this virgin,
Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. 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.

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

been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc cess: 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.

Ber. 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 ex tend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.

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 presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepara tion, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

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 lord-lord; but the attempt I vow. ship'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 surprise him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind

1 Theobald thought that we should red paces; but we may suppose the places alluded to to the houses of pimps and panders.

2 A hilding is a paltry fellow, a coward."

3 The camp. It seems to have been a new-fangled term at this time, introduced from the Low Countries. 4 The old copy reads ours. The emendation is Theo

7 I would recover the lost drum or another, or die in

the attempt. An epitaph then usually began hic jacet.

8 The dilemmas of Parolles have nothing to do with those of the schoolmen, as the commentators imagined:-his dilemmas are the difficulties he was to encoun ter. Mr. Boswell argues that the penning down of these could not well encourage him in his certainty: but why are those distinct actions necessarily connected?

9 Steevens has mistaken this passage; Malone is right. Bertram's meaning is, that he will vouch for his doing all that it is possible for soldiership to effect. He was not yet certain of his cowardice.

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, to us again? Nothing acquainted with these businesses;

And would not put my reputation now

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 one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose:10 chough's 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.

Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours say I have done? It must be a very plausible in'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I vention 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 fool-hardy; but my heart 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.

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 Came say, off with so little? you and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore?

7 From under our windows.

8 This gingling riddle may be thus briefly explained. Bertram's is a wicked intention, though the act he commits is lawful. Helen's is both a lawful intention and a lawful deed. The fact as relates to Bertram was sin ful, because he intended to commit adultery; yet nei. ther he nor Helena actually sinned.

9 i. e. foreign troops in the enemy's pay.

10 The sense of this very obscure passage appears, from the context, to be: we must each fancy a jargon for himself, without aiming to be understood by each other; for, provided we appear to understand, that will be sufficient. I suspect that a word or two is omitted. 11 A bird of the jack-daw kind,