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Why the Grecians facked Troy?
". Fond done, fond done ;--for Paris he
Was this King Priam's joy.
“ With that the fighed as the stood, (7)

« And And from him I received that supplement, which I have given to the text, and the following justification of it. “ I will first proceed \' to justify my sense and emendation, and then account for the cor“ ruption. In the first place, 'tis plain, the laf line should not “ have been read with an interrogation : For was Hilen King « Prian's joy? No, Turely, she was not. Who then? why, the « historians tell us it was Paris, who was his favourite fon. And “ how natural was it, when this foe (whoever she was,) had said,

was this the face that ruin'd Troy? to fall into a moral reflection, « and say, what a fond deed was this! Priam's misery proceeded “ from him, that was his only joy. This is exactly agreeable to “ the fimplicity of those ancient songs: as the phrase, For Paris « be is to their mode of locution. So far we have the genius of “ the Ballad, hiftory, and the context, to make it probable. An “ obfervation upon the ensuing fansa may make it clear to demon• * (tration.”

I will only subjoin, in confirmation of my friend's ingenious cona jecture, that, in Tbe Maid in the Mill by Beaumont and Fletcher, I find a scrap of another old ballad upon the same subject, most nearly corresponding with ours.

And here fair Paris comes,
The hopeful youth of Troy ;
Queen Hecuba's darling fon,

King Priam's only joy.
(7) With that fhe figbed, as frie food,

And gave this fentence tben;
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.]
This ad ftanza is a joke turn'd upon the women: a confeffion that
there was one good in ten. Upon which the Countess says, “ What!
“ one good in ten! you corrupt the fung, firrah". This thews, that
the sense of the song was, one bad only in ten; or, nine good in ten:
and this clears up the mystery. The 2d stanza was certainly thus in
the old ballad.

With that she figbed as she food,

And gave this sentence then ;
If one be bud amongst nine good,

There's but one bad in ten,
A visible continuation of the thought, as amended, in the latter part
of the firft stanza : and it relates to the ten fons of Priam, who all
behaved themfelves well except this Paris. But why Priam's ten
sons, may it not be ask'd, when universal tradition has given him

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And gave this fentence then ;

Among nine bad if one be good, " There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, firrah,

Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o'th' fong: would, God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson; one in ten, qouth a’! an we might have a good woman born but 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 come mand you.

Clo. That man that should be at a woman's com... mand, and yet no hurt done! tho? honefty: be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplis 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 gentlewoman intirely.

Count. Faith, I do; her father bequeath'd her to me; and the herself, without other advantages, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; there is more owing her, than is paid; and more Mall be paid her, than she'll demand. I'Staw. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, the wish'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears ; the thought, I dare vow for her, they touchd not any

fifty. To this I reply, that, at the time of this unfortunate part of his reign, he had but ten. To these this fongstet alludes. They were, Agatbon, Antipbon, Deipbobus, Dius, Hector: Jelenus, Hipporhous, Pammon, Paris and Polites. It seems particularly humorous in the clown, (and fuiting with the licence of his character, as a jefter ;) all at once to deprave the text of the ballad, and turn it to a sarcasm upon the women,

Mr. Warburton,


ftranger sense. Her matter was, she lov'd your son ; Fortune, she said, was no goddess, (8) 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 fuffer her poor Knight to be surpriz'd without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This The deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in ; which I held it my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharg'd this honestly, keep it to yourself; many likelihoods inform’d me of this before, which hang so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt; pray you, leave me; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honeft care; I will speak with you further anon.

[Exit Steward.
Enter Helena.
Count. Ev'n 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 ;
(8) Fortune, she faid, was no goddess, &c. Love, no god, &c. com-
plain'd againft the Queen of virgins, &c.] This pallage stands thus
in the old copics.

Love, no god, ibat would not extend bis migbt only where qualities were level, Queen of virgins, that would suffer ber poor Knight, &c. , 'Tis evident to every sensible reader that something must have Nip'd out here, by which the meaning of the context is render'd defective. There are no traces for the words, [complain'd agairff tbe] which I take to have been first conjecturally fupplý'd by Mr. Rowe. But the form of the sentence is intirely alter'd by their infertion; and they, at best, make but a botch. The steward is speaking in the very words he overheard of the young Lady; fortune was no goddess, the said, for one reason; love no god, for another;---what could the then more naturally subjoin, than as I have amended in the text?

Diana no Queen of virgins, that would suffer ber foor Knight to be furpriz'd witbout rescue, &c. For in poetical history. Diana was as well known to preside over cbaflity, as Cupid over love, or Forture over the change or regulation of our circumstances.

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It is the show and feal of nature's truth,
Where love's ftrong pallion is imprest in youth
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.

is fick on't; I observe her now.
Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam?
Count. Helen, you know, I am a mother to you. 1
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,

you start at it? I say, I'm 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 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 say, I am thy mother what's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eyes?
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 vafsal 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 fun, 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;

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God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So strive upon your pulse! what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness. --Now I fee (9)
The myst’ry of your loneliness, and find
Your fált tears head; now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son ; invention is alhamid,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou doft not; therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis fo. For, look, thy cheeks
Confess it one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grosly shown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they speak it: only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected ; fpeak, is't fo ?
If it be so, you've wound a goodly clew :
If it be not, forswear't; howe’er, I charge thee,
As heav'n hall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel. Good Madam, pardon me.
Count. Do


fon :

. Your pardon, noble mistress.
Count. Love you my fon!
Hel. Do not you love him, Madam ?
Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,

Now I fee
I be my fry of your loveliness, and find
Your Jalt tears

s bead: } The mystery of her loveliness is beyond my comprehension: The old Countess is saying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in reproach, that this word should find a place here; which it could not, unless Sarcastically employ'd, and with some spleen. I dare warrant, the

find * the mystery of your creeping into corners, and weeping, and “ pining in secret". For this reafon I have amended the text, lonelinefs. The steward, in the foregoing scene, where he gives the Countess intelligence of Helen's behaviour fays;

Alone se was, and did communicate to berself ber own words. to ber The author has used the word lonelinefs; to sgnify a person's being alone, again in his Hamlet.

We will bestow ourselves: read on this book; oi ???
That shew of such an exercise


Your loneliness



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