contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? I hear there is an overture of peace. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. How is this justified? The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Hath the count all this intelligence? Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. How now! where's your master? He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses,