That I will work against him: Therefore, your oaths

Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd; At least, in my opinion.

Ber. 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 recover: say, thou art miue, and ever My love, as it begins, shall so perséver.

Dia. 1 see, that men make hopes, in such affairs,

That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power

To give it from me.

Dia, Will you not, my Lord?

Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

Which were the greatest obloquy the world
In me to lose.

Dia. Mine honours 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,

Ber. Here, take my ring:

Mine house, miue honour, yea, my life be thine, And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at w 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.
Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing

thee.

[Exit. Dia. 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 his heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths: We had sworn to marry me,
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with

When I am buried.

him,

Since Frenchmen are so braid,

Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid:

Ouly, in this disguise, I think't no sin

To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit.

9 CENE III.

The Florentine Camp.

Enter the two French Lords, and two or three

Soldiers.

Lord. You have not given him his mother's

letter.

2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature. for, on the reading it, he changed almost into another man.

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.

2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had even. tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewo man here in Florence, of a most chaste renown and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.

1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we are ourselves, what things are we!

a Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in. the common course of all treasons, we still see! them reveal themselves, till they attain to their". abhorr'd ends; so he, that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?

2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anatomiz'd; that he

might take a. measure of his own judgements, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

1 Lord. In the mean time what hear you of these wars?

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace.
1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
2 Lord. What will Count Rousillon do then?

will he travel higher, or return again into

France?

1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, Sir! so should I be a great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house; her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques de grand; which holy undertaking, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplish'd: and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature 1 became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.

a Lord. How is this justified?

I Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence? 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this.

1 Lord.

Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses!

2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we-drown out gain in tears! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encounter'd with a shame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipp'd them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a Servant.

How now! where's your master?

Ser. He met the Duke in the street, Sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave; his Lordship will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendation to the King. we Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can com mend.

Enter BERTRAM.

How

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness. Here's his Lordship now. now, my Lord, ist not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi nesses, a month's length a picce, by an abstract of success: I have conge'd with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy and, between these main parcels of despatch effected many nicer needs; VOL. V.

12.