Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, That has done worthy service. Hel. His name, I pray you. Dia. The count Rousillon: Know you such a one? Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. Reports but coarsely of her. Hel. Dia. Monsieur Parolles. What's his name? O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean I have not heard examin'd. Dia. Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly this young maid might do her : A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Hel How do you mean? May be, the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful Wid. purpose. He does, indeed; And brokes 42 with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES. Mar. The gods forbid else! Wid. So, now they come : That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. Hel. Dia. Which is the Frenchman? He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow; Hel. I like him well. Dia. "Tis pity, he is not honest: Yond's that same knave, That leads him to these places; were I his lady, I'd poison that vile rascal. ..Hel. Which is he? Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he melancholy? Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. Par. Lose our drum! well. Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something: Look, he has spied us. Wid. Marry, hang you! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers. Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents Hel. I humbly thank you: To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, Both. We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM, and the two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. |