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