| [Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets] |
|
| DUKE | The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. |
| BERTRAM | Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. |
| DUKE | Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! |
| BERTRAM | This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. |
| [Exeunt] |