the songs

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with ber; Helen I mean. Clown. Was this fair face the cause, quoth

she,

[singing.] Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond ,

Was this king Priam's joy.
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,
And
gave

this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt

sirrah. Clown. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-womau, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but or every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you?

Clown. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! - Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit.)

Count. Well, now.
Stew, I know, madam, you love

your gentle woman entirely. Vol. III.

B

7

Count. 'Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very

late more near her than, I think, she wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger-sense.

Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level ; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransom afterward: This she deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform’d me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

[Ecit Steward.]

Enter HELENA. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was

young : If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the shew and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is imprest in youth:

By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults; or then we thought

them none.
Here
eye

is sick on't; I observe her now. Hel.' What is your pleasure, madam ?

Count. You know, Helen, I ain a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother, That you start at it? I

say,

I

am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress’d me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care : God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, To say,

I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper’d messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? - that you are my daughter?

Hel. That I am not.
Count. I say, I am your mother.

Hel. Pardon, madam;
The count Rousillon cannot be

my

brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother ?

Count. Nor I your mnother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you

.

were

(So that

my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed, my mother! or were you both our

mothers,

I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-

in-law;
God shield, you mean it not!' daaghter, and

mother,
So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so: – for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it; one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shewn in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for tbine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me!
Count. Do

you
love

?
Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress!
Count. Love you my son ?
Hel. Do not you love him, madam?

Gount. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, dis-

close
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, ,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son: aten

my son

My friends
were poor,
but honest; so's

my

love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him, That he is loy'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. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and intenible.sieve, I still pour

in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do: but, if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and Love; O then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; That seeks not to find that, her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.

Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, To go to Paris ?

Hel. Madam, I had.
Count. Wherefore ? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he willd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The king is render'd lost.