man loves money, with no stomach. What have we here? E'en that you have there. I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, Bertram. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! What is the matter? Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Why should he be killed? So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Save you, good madam. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Do not say so. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. 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. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. 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? Ay, madam. And to be a soldier? Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. Return you thither? Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Till I have