_Count._ Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, 45 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? _Sec. Gent._ Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, 50 And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. _Hel._ Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. [_reads_] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that 55 I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. _Count._ Brought you this letter, gentlemen? _First Gent._ Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. 60 _Count._ 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? 65 _Sec. Gent._ Ay, madam. _Count._ And to be a soldier? _Sec. Gent._ Such is his noble purpose; and, believe 't, The Duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. _Count._ Return you thither? _First Gent._ Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. 70 _Hel._ [_reads_] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. _Count._ Find you that there? _Hel._ Ay, madam. _First Gent._ 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. 75 _Count._ Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? 80 _First Gent._ A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. _Count._ Parolles, was it not? _First Gent._ Ay, my good lady, he. _Count._ A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature 85 With his inducement. _First Gent._ Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. _Count._ Y' are welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, 90 To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. _Sec. Gent._ We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.