• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

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,