SCENE V. Without the walls of Florence.
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana and 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.
[A tucket afar off.]
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 threaten 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 Rossillon. Know you such a one?
HELENA.
But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him;
His face I know not.
DIANA.
Whatsome’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.
Ay, right; 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?
Maybe 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 a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, Bertram and Parolles.
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’ the 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, Officers and Soldiers.]
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.]
SCENE VI. Camp before Florence.
Enter Bertram and the two French Lords.
FIRST LORD.
Nay, good my lord, put him to’t; let him have his way.
SECOND LORD.
If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.
FIRST LORD.
On my life, my lord, a bubble.
BERTRAM.
Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
FIRST 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.
SECOND 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.
SECOND LORD.
None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.
FIRST 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.
SECOND 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.
FIRST 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.
SECOND 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.
SECOND 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 your 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 possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.
PAROLLES.
I love not many words.
[Exit.]
FIRST 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.
SECOND 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?
FIRST LORD.
None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies; but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall tonight; for indeed he is not for your lordship’s respect.
SECOND LORD.
We’ll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smok’d by the old Lord Lafew; when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.
FIRST LORD.
I must go look my twigs. He shall be caught.
BERTRAM.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.
FIRST 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.
SECOND 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’ the 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?
SECOND LORD.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE VII. Florence. A room in 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 naught 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,
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 tonight
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.]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp.
Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
FIRST LORD.
He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless someone among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Good captain, let me be th’ interpreter.
FIRST LORD.
Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice?
FIRST SOLDIER.
No sir, I warrant you.
FIRST LORD.
But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?
FIRST SOLDIER.
E’en such as you speak to me.
FIRST LORD.
He must think us some band of strangers i’ the adversary’s entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! Here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.
Enter Parolles.
PAROLLES.
Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ’twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have of late knock’d too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy, but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was guilty of.
PAROLLES.
What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit; yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say “Came you off with so little?” and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what’s the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
PAROLLES.
I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] We cannot afford you so.
PAROLLES.
Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in stratagem.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] ’Twould not do.
PAROLLES.
Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Hardly serve.
PAROLLES.
Though I swore I leap’d from the window of the citadel,—
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] How deep?
PAROLLES.
Thirty fathom.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.
PAROLLES.
I would I had any drum of the enemy’s; I would swear I recover’d it.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] You shall hear one anon.
PAROLLES.
A drum now of the enemy’s!
[Alarum within.]
FIRST LORD.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
ALL.
Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
[They seize and blindfold him.]
PAROLLES.
O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Boskos thromuldo boskos.
PAROLLES.
I know you are the Muskos’ regiment,
And I shall lose my life for want of language.
If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me,
I’ll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto. Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.
PAROLLES.
O!
FIRST SOLDIER.
O, pray, pray, pray!
Manka revania dulche.
FIRST LORD.
Oscorbidulchos volivorco.
FIRST SOLDIER.
The General is content to spare thee yet;
And, hoodwink’d as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform
Something to save thy life.
PAROLLES.
O, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show,
Their force, their purposes; nay, I’ll speak that
Which you will wonder at.
FIRST SOLDIER.
But wilt thou faithfully?
PAROLLES.
If I do not, damn me.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Acordo linta.
Come on; thou art granted space.
[Exit, with Parolles guarded.]
A short alarum within.
FIRST LORD.
Go tell the Count Rossillon and my brother
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
Till we do hear from them.
SECOND SOLDIER.
Captain, I will.
FIRST LORD.
’A will betray us all unto ourselves;
Inform on that.
SECOND SOLDIER.
So I will, sir.
FIRST LORD.
Till then I’ll keep him dark, and safely lock’d.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house.
Enter Bertram and Diana.
BERTRAM.
They told me that your name was Fontybell.
DIANA.
No, my good lord, Diana.
BERTRAM.
Titled goddess;
And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden but a monument;
When you are dead, you should be such a one
As you are now; for you are cold and stern,
And now you should be as your mother was
When your sweet self was got.
DIANA.
She then was honest.
BERTRAM.
So should you be.
DIANA.
No.
My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.
BERTRAM.
No more a’ that!
I pr’ythee do not strive against my vows;
I was compell’d to her; but I love thee
By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.
DIANA.
Ay, so you serve us
Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.
BERTRAM.
How have I sworn?
DIANA.
’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
But the plain single vow that is vow’d true.
What is not holy, that we swear not by,
But take the highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes
I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths
When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
To swear by him whom I protest to love
That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths
Are words and poor conditions; but unseal’d,—
At least in my opinion.
BERTRAM.
Change it, change it.
Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;
And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts
That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
But give thyself unto my sick desires,
Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever
My love as it begins shall so persever.
DIANA.
I see that men make hopes in such a case,
That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
BERTRAM.
I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.
DIANA.
Will you not, my lord?
BERTRAM.
It is an honour ’longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world
In me to lose.
DIANA.
Mine honour’s such a ring;
My chastity’s the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part
Against your vain assault.
BERTRAM.
Here, take my ring;
My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I’ll be bid by thee.
DIANA.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
I’ll order take my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer’d my yet maiden-bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me.
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
When back again this ring shall be deliver’d;
And on your finger in the night, I’ll put
Another ring, that what in time proceeds
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
BERTRAM.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
[Exit.]
DIANA.
For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
You may so in the end.
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she sat in’s heart. She says all men
Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me
When his wife’s dead; therefore I’ll lie with him
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I live and die a maid.
Only, in this disguise, I think’t no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win.
[Exit.]