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ftranger fenfe. Her matter was, the lov'd your fon; Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddefs, (8) that had put fuch difference betwixt their two eftates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana no Queen of virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpriz'd without rescue in the firft affault, or ranfom afterward. This the deliver'd in the moft bitter touch of forrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in; which I held it my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it.

Count. You have discharg'd this honeftly, keep it to yourfelf; many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor mifdoubt; pray you, leave me; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest care; I will speak with you further anon.

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

Count. Ev'n fo it was with me, when I was young;
If we are nature's, thefe are ours: this thorn

Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood, is born;

(8) Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddefs, &c. Love, no god, &c. complain'd against the Queen of virgins, &c.] This paffage ftands thus in the old copies.

Love, no god, that would not extend bis might only where qualities were level, Queen of virgins, that would fuffer her four Knight, &c. 'Tis evident to every fenfible reader that fomething must have flip'd out here, by which the meaning of the context is render'd defective. There are no traces for the words, [complain'd against the] which I take to have been first conjecturally fupply'd by Mr. Rowe. But the form of the fentence is intirely alter'd by their infertion; and they, at beft, make but a botch. The steward is speaking in the very words he overheard of the young Lady; fortune was no goddess, the faid, for one reafon; love no god, for another;---what could the then more naturally fubjoin, than as I have amended in the text?

Diana no Queen of virgins, that would suffer her foor Knight to be furpriz'd without rescue, &c.

For in poetical history Diana was as well known to prefide over chaflity, as Cupid over love, or Fortune over the change or regulation of our circumftances.

It

It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth,

Where love's ftrong paffion is impreft in youth;

By our remembrances of days foregone,

Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now.-

Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam ?
Count. Helen, you know, I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother;

Why not a mother? when I faid a mother,
Methought, you faw a ferpent; what's in mother,
That you ftart at it? I fay, I'm your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often feen,
Adoption ftrives with nature; and choice breeds
A native flip to us from foreign feeds.
You ne'er oppreft me with a mother's groan,
Yet I exprefs to you a mother's care:

God's mercy! maiden, do's it curd thy blood,
To fay, I am thy mother? what's the matter,
That this diftemper'd meffenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eyes?
Why, that you are my daughter?

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am your mother.
Hel. Pardon, Madam.

The Count Roufillon cannot be my brother;
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble.
My mafter, my dear Lord he is; and I
His fervant live, and will his vaffal die :
He must not be my brother.

Count. Nor I your mother?

Hel. You are my mother, Madam; would you were, (So that my Lord, your fon, were not my brother) Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our mothers I care no more for, than I do for heav'n,

So I were not his fifter: can't no other,

But I your daughter, he must be my brother?

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law;

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulfe! what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs.-Now I fee (9)
The myft'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is afham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy paffion,
To fay, thou dost not; therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis fo. For, look, thy cheeks
Confefs it one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it fo grofly fhown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they fpeak it: only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth should be fufpected; fpeak, is't fo?
If it be fo, you've wound a goodly clew:
If it be not, forfwear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
As heav'n fhall work in me for thine avail,

To tell me truly.

Hel. Good Madam, pardon me.

Count. Do you love

my fon ?

Hel. Your pardon, noble miftrefs.

Count. Love you my fon?

Hel. Do not you love him, Madam ?

Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,

[blocks in formation]

The myft'ry of your lovelinefs, and find

Your falt tears bead:

-]

The mystery of her loveliness is beyond my comprehenfion: The old Countess is faying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in reproach, that this word fhould find a place here; which it could not, unless farcaftically employ'd, and with fome spleen. I dare warrant, the poet meant, his old Lady fhould fay no more than this: "I now find "the myftery of your creeping into corners, and weeping, and "pining in fecret". For this reason I have amended the text, lonelinefs. The fteward, in the foregoing fcene, where he gives the Countess intelligence of Helen's behaviour fays;

Alone he was, and did communicate to berfelf her own words to ber

own ears.

The author has ufed the word loneliness, to fignify a perfon's being alone, again in his Hamlet.

We will beftow ourselves: read on this book;
That fhew of fuch an exercise may colour
Your loneliness.

Whereof

Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The ftate of your affection; for your paffions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then, I confefs,

Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you,
That before you, and next unto high heav'n,
I love your fon:

My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my love;
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,

That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not

By any token of prefumptuous fuit;

Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him;
Yet never know, how that defert fhall be:
I know, I love in vain; ftrive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible fieve,
I ftill pour in the water of my love,
And lack not to lofe ftill; thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The fun that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more. My deareft Madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my love,
For loving where you do; but if yourself,
Whofe aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in so true a flame of liking

Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whofe ftate is fuch, that cannot chufe
But lend, and give, where she is fure to lofe;
That feeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweetly, where fhe dies.

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

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I fwear;
You know, my father left me fome prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects; fuch as his reading
And manifeft experience had collected
For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'ft refervation to bestow them,

A s

As notes, whofe faculties inclufive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,

To cure the defperate languifhings, whereof
The King is render'd loft.

Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, speak? Hel. My Lord your fon made me to think of this; Elfe Paris, and the medicine, and the King,

Had from the conversation of my thoughts

Haply been abfent then.

Count. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your fuppofed aid,

He would receive it? he and his phyficians

Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him:

They, that they cannot help. How fhall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off

The danger to itself?

Hel. There's fomething in't

More than my father's fkill, (which was the great'st Of his profeffion,) that his good receipt

Shall for my legacy be fanctified

By th' luckieft ftars in heav'n; and, would your Honour But give me leave to try fuccefs, I'd venture

The well-loft life of mine on his Grace's cure,

By fuch a day and hour.

Count. Doft 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 thofe of mine in court. I'll stay at home,
And pray God's bleffing into thy attempt:
Begone, to-morrow; and be fure of this,

What I can help thee to, thou shalt not mifs. [Exeunt.

ACT

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