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ACT II I.

SCENE I.

Florence. A room in the Duke's palace.

Florish. Enter DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; Two FRENCH LORDS, and others.

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

The fundamental reasons of this war;

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

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Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom

Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,1
But like a common and an outward 2 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 uncertain grounds to fail

Tell.

2 One unacquainted with state secrets.

As often as I guess'd.

Duke.

Be it his pleasure.

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

ture,1

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

Come here for physic.

Duke.

Welcome shall they be;

And all the honors, 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.

SCENE II.

[Florish. Exeunt

Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace.
Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN.

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

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

Count. 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.

Our young fellows.

The folding at the top of the boot.

Count. 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.

Count. What have we here?

Clown. Ev'n that you have there.

:

[Exit.

Count. [reads.] I have sent you a daughter-inlaw she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You 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.

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This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favors of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprising 1 of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

1 Undervaluing.

Re-enter CLOWN.

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

Count. 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.

Count. 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 Clown.

Enter HELENA and TWO GENTLEMEN.

1 Gen. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. 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 1 unto 't.-Where is my son,

you?

I pray

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence;

1 Affect me suddenly and deeply, as my sex are usually affected.

SHAK.

V.

E

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

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my pass

port.

[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.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1 Gen. 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,1
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 Gen. Ay, madam.

Count.

And to be a soldier?

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honor

That good convenience claims.

Count.

Return you thither?

If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself.

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