The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare (book suggestions .TXT) 📗

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 tonight; 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