The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true; Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! Count. Love you my son ? Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. Hel. Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, I love your son :— My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian Hel. Madam, I had. Wherefore? tell true. For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, `More than they were in note: amongst the rest, This was your motive Count. For Paris, was it? speak. Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, -If Count. you But think you, Helen, should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture Count. Dost thou believe't? Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants. King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike principles Do not throw from you :—and you, my lord, farewell:Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both. 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! Both. Our hearts receive your warnings King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. [The King retires to a couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars! Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with; Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, Par. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles ! Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:-You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you do? Ber. Stay; the king [Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble |