1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. [reads.] 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' "Tis bitter. Count. Find you that there? Hel. Ay, madam. 1 Gen. '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 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known. Count. 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. Parolles, was 't not? Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked ness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, Count. You are welcome, gentlemen. The honor that he loses: more I'll entreat you 2 Gen. We serve you, madam, In that, and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.1 Will you draw near? [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 Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing air, With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, 1 No otherwise than as I return the same offices of civility. 2 Ravenous. 3 Owns. Whence honor but of danger wins a scar, My being here it is, that holds thee hence: That pitiful rumor may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night! end, day! For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. SCENE III. [Exit. Florence. Before the Duke's palace. Florish. Enter DUKE OF florence, BERTRAM, Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet Duke. Then go thou forth, And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! Ber. 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 IV. Rousillon. A room in the Countess'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. Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone : Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That bare-foot 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 fervor sanctify: His taken labors bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno,1 sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice 2 so much, 1 In allusion to the labors of Hercules. • Discretion. I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me. madam : If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. Count. What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, [Exeunt. |