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 kill'd? 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 French Gentlemen. Fr. Env. Save you, good Madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone; for ever gone. Do not say so. Count. 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? Fr. Gen. 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. Hel. Look on his 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. Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? Fr. Env. Ay, Madam; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, And thou art all my child. - Towards Florence is he? And to be a soldier? Fr. Gen. 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? Fr. Env. 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. Fr. Env. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! Count. Parolles, was it not? Fr. Env. Ay, my good lady, he. Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. The fellow has a deal of that too much, Count. Y' are welcome, gentlemen. Fr. Gen. We serve you, Madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? [Exeunt COUNTESS and French 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; That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, Better 't were, I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 't were 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: That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day; SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's Palace. [Exit. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, 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. 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! Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove SCENE IV. Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace. Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? [Exeunt. Stew. [Reads.] "I am Saint Jacques' pilgrim, thither gone. Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war, He is too good and fair for death and me, Whom I myself embrace, to set him free." Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, 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. Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. [Exeunt. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. 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. |