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His servant live, and will his vassal 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 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! daughter, 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,

Το thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
say,
But tell me then, 'tis so: - for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other: and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind9 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 thine avail,

To tell me truly.

Hel.

Count. Do

you
love

Good madam, pardon me!
my son?

6 I care no more for,] There is a designed ambiguity: I care no more for, is, I care as much for. I wish it equally. FARMER.

7 strive] To strive is to contend.

8 Your salt tears' head.] The source, the fountain of your tears, the cause of your grief. JOHNSON.

9

nature.

in their kind-] i. e. in their language, according to their

Hel.

Count. Love

Hel.

you my

Your pardon, noble mistress!

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

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My friends were poor, but honest; so'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 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 sieve1,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still2; 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,

1

captious and intenible sieve,] Dr. Farmer supposes captious to be a contraction of capacious.

Mr. Malone thinks it means recipient, capable of receiving what is put into it; and by intenible, incapable of holding or retaining it. 2 And lack not to lose still:] Helena means to say, that, like a person who pours water into a vessel full of holes, and still continues his employment, though he finds the water all lost, and the vessel empty; so, though she finds that the waters of her love are still lost, that her affection is thrown away on an object whom she thinks she never can deserve, she yet is not discouraged, but perseveres in her hopeless endeavour to accomplish her wishes.

Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth3,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love1; 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.

Count.

Madam, I had.

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 will'd me In heedfullest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive 5 were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is render'd lost.

Count.

For Paris, was it? speak.

This was your motive

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,

Haply been absent then.

3 Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,] i. e. whose respectable conduct in age shows, or proves, that you were no less virtuous when

young.

4 Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian

Was both herself and love ;] i. e. Venus. Helena means to say— "If ever you wished that the deity who presides over chastity, and the queen of amorous rights, were one and the same person; or, in other words, if ever you wished for the honest and lawful completion of your chaste desires.”

5

notes, whose faculties inclusive-] Receipts in which greater virtues were inclosed than appeared to observation.

Count.

But think you, Helen,

If you 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

The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,

By such a day, and hour.

Count.

Dost thou believ'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,
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:

Be

gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

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

6 Embowell'd of their doctrine,] i. e. exhausted of their skill. + "young lords." MALONE.

Do not throw from you:-and you, my lordt, fare

well:

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
Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege.7 Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy,) see, that you, come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;

+"my lords." MALONE.

7 and yet my heart, &c.] i. e. in the common phrase, I am still heart-whole; my spirits, by not sinking under my distemper, do not acknowledge its influence.

8

let higher Italy

(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall

Of the last monarchy,) see, &c.] The ancient geographers have divided Italy into the higher and the lower, the Apennine hills being a kind of natural line of partition; the side next the Adriatic was denominated the higher Italy, and the other side the lower; and the two seas followed the same terms of distinction, the Adriatic being called the upper Sea, and the Tyrrhene, or Tuscan, the lower. Now the Sennones, or Senois, with whom the Florentines are here supposed to be at war, inhabited the higher Italy, their chief town HANMER. being Arminium, now called Rimini, upon the Adriatic.

Dr. Johnson says, that the sense may be this: Let upper Italy, where you are to exercise your valour, see that you come to gain honour, to the abatement, that is, to the disgrace and depression of those that have now lost their ancient military fame, and inherit but the fall of the last monarchy. To abate is used by Shakspeare in the original sense of abatre, to depress, to sink, to deject, to subdue.

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