1    It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
2    that he comes not along with her.

3    By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
4    melancholy man.

5    By what observance, I pray you?

6    Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
7    ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
8    teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
9    melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

10   Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

11   I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
12   old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
13   like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
14   the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
15   love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

16   What have we here?

17   E'en that you have there.

Reads
18    I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
19   recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
20   her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
21   eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
22   before the report come. If there be breadth enough
23   in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
24   to you. Your unfortunate son,
25   BERTRAM.
26   This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
27   To fly the favours of so good a king;
28   To pluck his indignation on thy head
29   By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
30   For the contempt of empire.

31   O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
32   soldiers and my young lady!

33   What is the matter?

34   Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
35   comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
36   thought he would.

37   Why should he be killed?

38   So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:
39   the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of
40   men, though it be the getting of children. Here
41   they come will tell you more: for my part, I only
42   hear your son was run away.

43   Save you, good madam.

44   Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

45   Do not say so.

46   Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
47   I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
48   That the first face of neither, on the start,
49   Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

50   Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
51   We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
52   And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
53   Thither we bend again.

54   Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.
Reads
55   When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
56   never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
57   of thy body that I am father to, then call me
58   husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
59   This is a dreadful sentence.

60   Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

61   Ay, madam;
62   And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

63   I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
64   If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
65   Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
66   But I do wash his name out of my blood,
67   And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

68   Ay, madam.

69   And to be a soldier?

70   Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
71   The duke will lay upon him all the honour
72   That good convenience claims.

73   Return you thither?

74   Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Reads
75    Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
76   'Tis bitter.

77   Find you that there?

78   Ay, madam.

79   'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
80   heart was not consenting to.

81   Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
82   There's nothing here that is too good for him
83   But only she; and she deserves a lord
84   That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
85   And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

86   A servant only, and a gentleman
87   Which I have sometime known.

88   Parolles, was it not?

89   Ay, my good lady, he.

90   A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
91   My son corrupts a well-derived nature
92   With his inducement.

93   Indeed, good lady,
94   The fellow has a deal of that too much,
95   Which holds him much to have.

96   You're welcome, gentlemen.
97   I will entreat you, when you see my son,
98   To tell him that his sword can never win
99   The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
100  Written to bear along.

101  We serve you, madam,
102  In that and all your worthiest affairs.

103  Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
104  Will you draw near!

105  'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
106  Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
107  Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
108  Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
109  That chase thee from thy country and expose
110  Those tender limbs of thine to the event
111  Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
112  That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
113  Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
114  Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
115  That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
116  Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
117  That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
118  Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
119  Whoever charges on his forward breast,
120  I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
121  And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
122  His death was so effected: better 'twere
123  I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
124  With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
125  That all the miseries which nature owes
126  Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
127  Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
128  As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
129  My being here it is that holds thee hence:
130  Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
131  The air of paradise did fan the house
132  And angels officed all: I will be gone,
133  That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
134  To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
135  For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.