ACT III. SCENE 1. Florence. The DUKE's palace          Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two                FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS    DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear     The fundamental reasons of this war;     Whose great decision hath much blood let forth     And more thirsts after.   FIRST LORD. Holy seems the quarrel     Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful     On the opposer.   DUKE. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France     Would in so just a business shut his bosom     Against our borrowing prayers.   SECOND LORD. Good my lord,     The reasons of our state I cannot yield,     But like a common and an outward man     That the great figure of a council frames     By self-unable motion; therefore dare not     Say what I think of it, since I have found     Myself in my incertain grounds to fail     As often as I guess'd.   DUKE. Be it his pleasure.   FIRST LORD. But I am sure the younger of our nature,     That surfeit on their ease, will day by day     Come here for physic.   DUKE. Welcome shall they be     And all the honours that can fly from us     Shall on them settle. You know your places well;     When better fall, for your avails they fell.     To-morrow to th' field. Flourish.                     Exeunt     ACT III. SCENE 2. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace  Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN    COUNTESS. It hath happen'd 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' th' country are nothing like your old ling and     your Isbels o' th' court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd 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 misprizing 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 kill'd so soon as I thought he would.   COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd?   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 the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN    SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam.   HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.   FIRST 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?   FIRST 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 this 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 pains.   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?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam.   COUNTESS. And to be a soldier?   FIRST 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?   SECOND 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.   SECOND 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?   SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman     Which I have sometime known.   COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not?   SECOND 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.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady,     The fellow has a deal of that too much     Which holds him much to have.   COUNTESS. 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.   FIRST 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     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     ACT III. SCENE 3. Florence. Before the DUKE'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 th' 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     ACT III. SCENE 4. Rousillon. The COUNT'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 fervour 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'er ta'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     ACT III. SCENE 5.  Without the walls of Florence A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter 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 great'st 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     threatens 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.              Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim    WIDOW. 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 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?                                                   [A march afar]   WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. 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 lodg'd;     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.   DIANA. What some'er he is,     He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,     As 'tis reported, for the King had married him     Against his liking. Think you it is so?   HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.   DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count     Reports but coarsely of her.   HELENA. What's his name?   DIANA. Monsieur Parolles.   HELENA. O, I believe with him,     In argument of praise, or to the worth     Of the great Count himself, she is too mean     To have her name repeated; all her deserving     Is a reserved honesty, and that     I have not heard examin'd.   DIANA. Alas, poor lady!     'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife     Of a detesting lord.   WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is     Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her     A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.   HELENA. How do you mean?     May be the amorous Count solicits her     In the unlawful purpose.   WIDOW. He does, indeed;     And brokes 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     In honestest defence.      Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the                           whole ARMY    MARIANA. The gods forbid else!   WIDOW. So, now they come.     That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;     That, Escalus.   HELENA. Which is the Frenchman?   DIANA. He-     That with the plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow.     I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester     He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?   HELENA. I like him well.   DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave     That leads him to these places; were I his lady     I would poison that vile rascal.   HELENA. Which is he?   DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?   HELENA. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle.   PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well.   MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something.     Look, he has spied us.   WIDOW. Marry, hang you!   MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!                               Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and ARMY   WIDOW. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you     Where you shall host. Of enjoin'd penitents     There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,     Already at my house.   HELENA. I humbly thank you.     Please it this matron and this gentle maid     To eat with us to-night; the charge and thanking     Shall be for me, and, to requite you further,     I will bestow some precepts of this virgin,     Worthy the note.     BOTH. We'll take your offer kindly.                   Exeunt     ACT III. SCENE 6. Camp before Florence  Enter BERTRAM, and the two FRENCH LORDS    SECOND LORD. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.   FIRST LORD. If your lordship find him not a hiding, hold me no more     in your respect.   SECOND LORD. On my life, my lord, a bubble.   BERTRAM. Do you think I am so far deceived in him?   SECOND LORD. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,     without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a     most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly     promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your     lordship's entertainment.   FIRST LORD. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his     virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty     business in a main danger fail you.   BERTRAM. I would I knew in what particular action to try him.   FIRST LORD. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which     you hear him so confidently undertake to do.   SECOND LORD. I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise     him; such I will have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy.     We will bind and hoodwink him so that he shall suppose no other     but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries when     we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at     his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life and in     the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and     deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that     with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my     judgment in anything.   FIRST LORD. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he     says he has a stratagem for't. When your lordship sees the bottom     of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of     ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's     entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.                        Enter PAROLLES    SECOND LORD. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of     his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.   BERTRAM. How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your     disposition.   FIRST LORD. A pox on 't; let it go; 'tis but a drum.   PAROLLES. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was     excellent command: to charge in with our horse upon our own     wings, and to rend our own soldiers!   FIRST LORD. That was not to be blam'd in the command of the     service; it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not     have prevented, if he had been there to command.   BERTRAM. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success.     Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to     be recovered.   PAROLLES. It might have been recovered.   BERTRAM. It might, but it is not now.   PAROLLES. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is     seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have     that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.'   BERTRAM. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur. If you think     your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour     again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise,     and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit. If you     speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it and extend to     you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost     syllable of our worthiness.   PAROLLES. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.   BERTRAM. But you must not now slumber in it.   PAROLLES. I'll about it this evening; and I will presently pen     down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself     into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further     from me.   BERTRAM. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it?   PAROLLES. I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the     attempt I vow.   BERTRAM. I know th' art valiant; and, to the of thy soldiership,     will subscribe for thee. Farewell.   PAROLLES. I love not many words.                          Exit   SECOND LORD. No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange     fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this     business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do,     and dares better be damn'd than to do 't.   FIRST LORD. You do not know him, my lord, as we do. Certain it is     that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and for a week     escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out,     you have him ever after.   BERTRAM. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that     so seriously he does address himself unto?   SECOND LORD. None in the world; but return with an invention, and     clap upon you two or three probable lies. But we have almost     emboss'd him. You shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is     not for your lordship's respect.   FIRST LORD. We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him.     He was first smok'd by the old Lord Lafeu. When his disguise and     he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you     shall see this very night.   SECOND LORD. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.   BERTRAM. Your brother, he shall go along with me.   SECOND LORD. As't please your lordship. I'll leave you.   Exit   BERTRAM. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you     The lass I spoke of.   FIRST LORD. But you say she's honest.   BERTRAM. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once,     And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,     By this same coxcomb that we have i' th' wind,     Tokens and letters which she did re-send;     And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature;     Will you go see her?   FIRST LORD. With all my heart, my lord.                 Exeunt     ACT III. SCENE 7. Florence. The WIDOW'S house  Enter HELENA and WIDOW    HELENA. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,     I know not how I shall assure you further     But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.   WIDOW. Though my estate be fall'n, I was well born,     Nothing acquainted with these businesses;     And would not put my reputation now     In any staining act.   HELENA. Nor would I wish you.   FIRST give me trust the Count he is my husband,     And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken     Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,     By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,     Err in bestowing it.   WIDOW. I should believe you;     For you have show'd me that which well approves     Y'are great in fortune.   HELENA. Take this purse of gold,     And let me buy your friendly help thus far,     Which I will over-pay and pay again     When I have found it. The Count he woos your daughter     Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,     Resolv'd to carry her. Let her in fine consent,     As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.     Now his important blood will nought deny     That she'll demand. A ring the County wears     That downward hath succeeded in his house     From son to son some four or five descents     Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds     In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,     To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,     Howe'er repented after.   WIDOW. Now I see     The bottom of your purpose.   HELENA. You see it lawful then. It is no more     But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,     Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;     In fine, delivers me to fill the time,     Herself most chastely absent. After this,     To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns     To what is pass'd already.   WIDOW. I have yielded.     Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,     That time and place with this deceit so lawful     May prove coherent. Every night he comes     With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd     To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us     To chide him from our eaves, for he persists     As if his life lay on 't.   HELENA. Why then to-night     Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,     Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,     And lawful meaning in a lawful act;     Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.     But let's about it.                                   Exeunt