Complete Plays, The (316 page)

Enter Countess and Clown

Countess

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.

Countess

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.

Countess

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.

Countess

What have we here?

Clown

E’en that you have there.

Exit

Countess

[Reads]
 
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

Clown

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

Countess

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.

Countess

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

Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen

First Gentleman

Save you, good madam.

Helena

Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Second Gentleman

Do not say so.

Countess

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?

Second Gentleman

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.

Helena

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.

Countess

Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman

Ay, madam;
And for the contents’ sake are sorry for our pain.

Countess

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?

Second Gentleman

Ay, madam.

Countess

 
And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman

Such is his noble purpose; and believe ’t,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.

Countess

Return you thither?

First Gentleman

Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Helena

[Reads]
 
Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
’Tis bitter.

Countess

 
Find you that there?

Helena

Ay, madam.

First Gentleman

’Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to.

Countess

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 Gentleman

A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.

Countess

Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman

Ay, my good lady, he.

Countess

A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

First Gentleman

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

Countess

You’re 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.

Second Gentleman

We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Countess

Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near!

Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen

Helena

‘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,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering 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 officed 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

S
CENE
III. F
LORENCE
. B
EFORE
THE
D
UKE
’
S
PALACE
.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Parolles, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets

Duke

The general of our horse thou art; and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promising fortune.

Bertram

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

Then go thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!

Bertram

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

S
CENE
IV. R
OUSILLON
. T
HE
C
OUNT
’
S
PALACE
.

Enter Countess and Steward

Countess

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.

Steward

[Reads]
 
I am Saint Jaques’ pilgrim, thither gone:
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That barefoot 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 labours bid him me forgive;
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death and me:
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

Countess

Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

Steward

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.

Countess

What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
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

S
CENE
V. F
LORENCE
. W
ITHOUT
THE
WALLS
. A
TUCKET
AFAR
OFF
.

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with other Citizens

Widow

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

Diana

They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Widow

It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke’s brother.

Tucket

We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

Mariana

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.

Widow

I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mariana

I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

Diana

You shall not need to fear me.

Widow

I hope so.

Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim

Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I’ll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

Helena

To Saint Jaques le Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow

At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

Helena

Is this the way?

Widow

Ay, marry, is’t.

A march afar

Hark you! they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
But till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
The rather, for I think I know your hostess
As ample as myself.

Helena

Is it yourself?

Widow

If you shall please so, pilgrim.

Helena

I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Widow

You came, I think, from France?

Helena

I did so.

Widow

Here you shall see a countryman of yours
That has done worthy service.

Helena

His name, I pray you.

Diana

The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

Helena

But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
His face I know not.