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HELENA. Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA. He; That with the plume; ’tis a most gallant fellow. I would he lov’d his wife; if he were honester He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA. I like him well.

DIANA. ’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave That leads him to these places. Were I his lady I would poison that vile rascal.

HELENA. Which is he?

DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

HELENA. Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle.

PAROLLES. Lose our drum! Well.

MARIANA. He’s shrewdly vex’d at something. Look, he has spied us.

WIDOW. Marry, hang you!

MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers.]

WIDOW. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host; of enjoin’d penitents There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house.

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