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. |
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 this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. |
Count. [Opening a letter.] Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. |
Clo. 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? |
Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. |
Count. 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 misprising 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 matter? |
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. |
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Enter HELENA and Gentlemen. |
First Gen. Save you, good madam. |
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. |
Sec. Gen. 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? |
Sec. Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence: |
We met him thitherward; for thence we came, |
And, after some dispatch in hand at court, |
Thither we bend again. |
Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. |
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? |
First Gen. Ay, madam; |
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. |
Count. I prithee, 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? |
Sec. Gen. Ay, madam. |
Count. And to be a soldier? |
Sec. 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? |
First Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. |
Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. |
'Tis bitter. |
Count. Find you that there? |
Hel. Ay, madam. |
First 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? |
First Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman |
Which I have some time known. |
Count. Parolles, was it not? |
First Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. |
Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. |
My son corrupts a well-derived nature |
With his inducement. |
First Gen. Indeed, good lady, |
The fellow has a deal of that too much, |
Which holds him much to have. |
Count. Y'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. |
Sec. 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 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 non-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-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 't; |
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. |
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