LITMIR.BIZ

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[Exeunt.]

      SCENE 7. Florence. A room in the WIDOW’S house.

       [Enter HELENA and Widow.]

       HELENA.

       If you misdoubt me that I am not she,

       I know not how I shall assure you further,

       But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

       WIDOW.

       Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,

       Nothing acquainted with these businesses;

       And would not put my reputation now

       In any staining act.

       HELENA.

       Nor would I wish you.

       First give me trust, the count he is my husband,

       And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken

       Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,

       By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,

       Err in bestowing it.

       WIDOW.

       I should believe you;

       For you have show’d me that which well approves

       You’re great in fortune.

       HELENA.

       Take this purse of gold,

       And let me buy your friendly help thus far,

       Which I will over-pay, and pay again

       When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter

       Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,

       Resolv’d to carry her: let her in fine, consent,

       As we’ll direct her how ‘tis best to bear it,

       Now his important blood will naught deny

       That she’ll demand: a ring the county wears,

       That downward hath succeeded in his house

       From son to son, some four or five descents

       Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds

       In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,

       To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,

       Howe’er repented after.

       WIDOW.

       Now I see

       The bottom of your purpose.

       HELENA.

       You see it lawful then: it is no more

       But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,

       Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;

       In fine, delivers me to fill the time,

       Herself most chastely absent; after this,

       To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns

       To what is pass’d already.

       WIDOW.

       I have yielded:

       Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,

       That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,

       May prove coherent. Every night he comes

       With musics of all sorts, and songs compos’d

       To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us

       To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,

       As if his life lay on ‘t.

       HELENA.

       Why, then, tonight

       Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,

       Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,

       And lawful meaning in a lawful act;

       Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:

       But let’s about it.

       [Exeunt.]

       ACT IV.

      SCENE 1. Without the Florentine camp.

       [Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush.]

       FIRST LORD. He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.

       FIRST SOLDIER.

       Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

       FIRST LORD.

       Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

       FIRST SOLDIER.

       No, sir, I warrant you.

       FIRST LORD.

       But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?

       FIRST SOLDIER.

       E’en such as you speak to me.

       FIRST LORD. He must think us some band of strangers i’ the adversary’s entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

       [Enter PAROLLES.]

       PAROLLES. Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ‘twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it ;they begin to smoke me: and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was guilty of.

       PAROLLES. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum: being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it: they will say Came you off with so little? and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what’s the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?

       PAROLLES. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       We cannot afford you so.

       PAROLLES.

       Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       ‘Twould not do.

       PAROLLES.

       Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       Hardly serve.

       PAROLLES.

       Though I swore I leap’d from the window of the citadel,—

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       How deep?

       PAROLLES.

       Thirty fathom.

       FIRST LORD. {Aside.]

       Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

       PAROLLES. I would I had any drum of the enemy’s; I would swear I recovered it.

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