Part 16

Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport. When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie, that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then) I write a Neuer. This is a dreadfull sentence

La. Brought you this Letter Gentlemen? 1.G. I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie for our paines

Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere, If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine, Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne, But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he? Fren.G. I Madam

La. And to be a souldier

Fren.G. Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu't The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor That good conuenience claimes

La. Returne you thither

Fren.E. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed

Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter

La. Finde you that there? Hel. I Madame

Fren.E. 'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting too

Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife: There's nothing heere that is too good for him But onely she, and she deserues a Lord That twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon, And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him? Fren.E. A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which I haue sometime knowne

La. Parolles was it not? Fren.E. I my good Ladie, hee

La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse, My sonne corrupts a well deriued nature With his inducement

Fren.E. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of that, too much, which holds him much to haue

La. Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate you written to beare along

Fren.G. We serue you Madam in that and all your worthiest affaires

La. Not so, but as we change our courtesies, Will you draw neere? Enter.

Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife: Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France, Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I That chase thee from thy Countrie, and expose Those tender limbes of thine, to the euent Of the none-sparing warre? And is it I, That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride vpon the violent speede of fire, Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aire That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who euer shoots at him, I set him there. Who euer charges on his forward brest I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: Better 'twere I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre, As oft it looses all. I will be gone: My being heere it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although The ayre of Paradise did fan the house, And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone, That pittifull rumour may report my flight To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day, For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away. Enter.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion, drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.

Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence Vpon thy promising fortune

Ber. Sir it is A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake, To th' extreme edge of hazard

Duke. Then go thou forth, And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme As thy auspicious mistris

Ber. This very day Great Mars I put my selfe into thy file, Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proue A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue.

Exeunt. omnes Enter Countesse & Steward.

La. 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. Reade it agen.

Letter.

I am S. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious loue hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon With sainted vow my faults to haue amended Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre, My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie, Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre, His name with zealous feruour sanctifie: His taken labours bid him me forgiue: I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth, From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue, Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth. He is too good and faire for death, and mee, Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free. Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much, As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her, I could haue well diuerted her intents, Which thus she hath preuented

Ste. Pardon me Madam, If I had giuen you this at ouer-night, She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes Pursuite would be but vaine