SCENE II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending.

KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th’ ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.

FIRST LORD. So ’tis reported, sir.

KING. Nay, ’tis most credible, we here receive it, A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial.

FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom, Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence.

KING. He hath arm’d our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part.

SECOND LORD. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.

KING. What’s he comes here?

Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles.

FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rossillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.