The ministration and required office On my particular: prepared I was not So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you, "Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have failed Ber. Let that go. My haste is very great: farewell; hie home Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. Ber. Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;' But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal Ber. What would you have? Hel. Something; and scarce so much :-nothing, indeed, I would not tell you what I would. My lord-'faith, yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse. well. 1 Possess, or own. Go thou toward home; where I will never come, Par. Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Florence. Palace. A Room in the Duke's Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; two French Lords, and others. Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war; Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, And more thirsts after. Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Lord. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield,1 1 i. e. explain. 2 One not in the secret of affairs; so inward in a contrary sense. 3 Warburton and Upton are of opinion that we should read, "By selfunable notion." Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail Duke. Be it his pleasure. 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature,1 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, Come here for physic. Duke. Welcome shall they be ; And all the honors, 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 the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II. 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. Let me see what he writes, and when he [Opening a letter. 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. 1 As we say at present, our young fellows. [Exit. 2 The tops of the boots, in Shakspeare's time, turned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding part, or top, was the ruff. It was of softer leather than the boot, and often fringed. I have Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. 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, This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, Re-enter Clown. BERTRAM. 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 Clown. Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle men, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, Can woman me unto't.-Where is my son, I pray you! 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence. We met him thitherward; from thence we came, Thither we bend again. Hel. 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 ! Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 Gent. If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,' And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? 2 Gent. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier? 2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honor That good convenience claims. Count. Return you thither? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter! Count. Find you that there? Hel. Ay, madam. 1 Gent. '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 1 An elliptical expression for "all the griefs that are thine." |