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God save you pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Is this the way?


Ay, marry, is it.-Hark you! [A march afar off.

They come this way:-If you will tarry, holy pil

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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.

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Is it yourself?

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim.

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France?


I did so.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours,

That has done worthy service.

His name, I pray you.

Dia. The count Rousillon: Know you such a one?
Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of


His face I know not.


Whatsoe'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?

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count,

Reports but coarsely of her..

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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.


Alas, poor lady!

'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife

Of a detesting lord.

Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do


A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.


How do you mean?

May be, the amorous count solicits her

In the unlawful purpose.


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 drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, Bertram, and Parolles.

Mar. The gods forbid else!

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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 gen-

Hel. I like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest: Yond's that same knave,

That leads him to these places; were I his lady, I'd poison that vile rascal.


Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he melancholy?

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle.

Par. Lose our drum! well.

Mar. He's shrewly vex'd at something: Look, he

has spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers.

Wid. 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.


I humbly thank you:

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,

To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,

I will bestow some precepts on this virgin,

Worthy the note.


We'll take your offer kindly.




Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him?

1 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.

2 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.

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action him.

to try

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his

drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprize him; such I will have, whom, I am Sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-wink 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 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 any thing.

2 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.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2 Lord. A pox on't let it go; 'tis but a drum.

Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost!-There was an excellent command! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc

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