I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rousillon, My being here it is, that holds thee hence: To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace, Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, BERTRAM, 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. Ber. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet To the extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, Ber. This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove SCENE IV. [Exeunt. 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 40, thither gone; That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 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! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her, 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, 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. Despatch 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. SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. 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. Mar. 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. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. Mar. 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 1: 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, Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter HELENA, in the dress of a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope so. -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? Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. Ay, marry, is it.-Hark you! [A march afar off. They come this way :-If you will tarry, holy pil grim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France? Hel. I did so. |