‘When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband; but in such a “then” I write a “never”.’ This is a dreadful sentence.
COUNTESS
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
FIRST LORD DUMAINE Ay, madam,
And for the contents’ sake are sorry for our pains.
COUNTESS
I prithee, lady, have a better cheer.
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine
Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.—Towards Florence is he?
FIRST LORD DUMAINE
Ay, madam.
COUNTESS
And to be a soldier?
FIRST LORD DUMAINE
Such is his noble purpose, and—believe’t—
The Duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
COUNTESS
Return you thither?
SECOND LORD DUMAINE
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
HELEN ‘Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.’
’Tis bitter. 75
COUNTESS Find you that there?
HELEN Ay, madam.
SECOND LORD DUMAINE
’Tis but the boldness of his hand,
Haply, which his heart was not consenting to.
COUNTESS
Nothing in France until he have no wife?
There’s nothing here that is too good for him
But only she, and she deserves a lord
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
And call her, hourly, mistress. Who was with him?
SECOND LORD DUMAINE
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.
COUNTESS Paroles, was it not?
SECOND LORD DUMAINE Ay, my good lady, he.
COUNTESS
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derivèd nature
With his inducement.
SECOND LORD DUMAINE Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much,
Which holds him much to have.
COUNTESS
You’re welcome, gentlemen.
I will entreat you when you see my son
To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses. More I’ll entreat you
Written to bear along.
FIRST LORD DUMAINE We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
COUNTESS
Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?
Exeunt all but Helen
HELEN ‘Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.’
Nothing in France until he has no wife.
Thou shalt have none, Roussillon, none in France;
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is’t I
That chase thee from thy country and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? And is it I
That drive thee 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, cleave 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 roared
With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roussillon,
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 officed 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
3.3 Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, a drummer and trumpeters, soldiers, and Paroles
DUKE (to Bertram)
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
3.4 Enter the Countess and Reynaldo her steward, with a letter
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.
REYNALDO (reads the letter)
‘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!
Reynaldo, 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.
REYNALDO
Pardon me, madam.
If I had given you this at over-night
She might have been o’erta’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, Reynaldo,
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
3.5 A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow, her daughter Diana, and Mariana, with other Florentine 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 greatest 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.—Wett, Diana, take heed of this French earl. The honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is so rich as honesty.
WIDOW (to Diana) I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman, his companion.
MARIANA I know that knave, hang him! One Paroles. A filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all their 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 Helen dressed as 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 you bound?
HELEN To Saint Jaques le Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
WIDOW
At the ’Saint Francis’ here beside the port.
HELEN
Is this the way?
WIDOW
Ay, marry, is’t.
Sound of a march, far off
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 lodged,
The rather for I think I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
HELEN Is it yourself?
WIDOW If you shall please so, pilgrim.
HELEN
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
WIDOW
You came, I think, from France?
HELEN
I did SO.
WIDOW
Here you shall see a countryman of yours
That has done worthy service.
HELEN His name, I pray you?
DIANA
The Count Roussillon. Know you such a one?
HELEN
But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; 50
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?
HELEN
Ay, surely, mere the truth. I know his lady.
DIANA
There is a gentleman that serves the Count
Reports but coarsely of her.
HELEN
What’s his name?
DIANA A
Monsieur Paroles.
HELEN
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 examined.
DIANA
Alas, poor lady.
’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
WIDOW
I warr’nt, good creature, wheresoe’er she is
Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her
A shrewd turn if she pleased.
HELEN
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 armed for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.
MARIANA The gods forbid else.
⌈Enter, with drummer and colours, Bertram, Paroles, and the whole army⌉
WIDOW So, now they come.
That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son;
That, Escalus.
HELEN
Which is the Frenchman?
DIANA He—
That with the plume. ’Tis a most gallant fellow.
I would he loved his wife. If he were honester
He were much goodlier. Is’t not
A handsome gentleman?
HELEN I like him well.
DIANA ’Tis pity he is not honest.
Yond’s that same knave that leads him to those
places.
Were I his lady, I would poison
That vile rascal.
HELEN
Which is he?
DIANA
That jackanapes
With scarves. Why is he melancholy?
HELEN Perchance he’s hurt i’th’ battle.
PAROLES (aside) Lose our drum? Well. 90
MARIANA He’s shrewdly vexed at something.
Look, he has spied us.
WIDOW (to Paroles)
Marry, hang you!
MARIANA (to Paroles)
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier.
Exeunt Bertram, Paroles, and the army
WIDOW
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host. Of enjoined penitents
There’s four or five to great Saint Jaques bound
Already at my house.
HELEN
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.
WIDOW and MARIANA We’ll take your offer kindly. Exeunt
3.6 Enter Bertram and the two Captains Dumaine SECOND LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) Nay, good my lord, put him to’t. Let him have his way.
FIRST LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.
SECOND LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) On my life, my lord, a bubble.
BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
SECOND LORD DUMAINE 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. 13
FIRST LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) 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 DUMAINE None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.
SECOND LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) 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 laager of the adversary’s 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 judgement in anything. 34
FIRST LORD DUMAINE (to Bertram) 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 Paroles
SECOND LORD DUMAINE O ⌈aside⌉ for the love of laughter ⌈aloud⌉ hinder not the honour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.
BERTRAM (to Paroles) How now, monsieur? This drum sticks sorely in your disposition.
FIRST LORD DUMAINE A pox on’t, let it go. ’Tis but a drum.
PAROLES 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! 51
FIRST LORD DUMAINE That was not to be blamed 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.
PAROLES It might have been recovered.
BERTRAM It might, but it is not now.
PAROLES 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 iacet’.
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.
PAROLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
BERTRAM) But you must not now slumber in it.
PAROLES 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?
PAROLES I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow.
BERTRAM) I know thou’rt valiant, and to the possibility of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell.
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 336
