Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o' th' fong: 'would God would ferve the world fo all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parfon. One in ten, quoth 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 command you ? Clo. That man that fhould be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' honefty be no Puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forfooth, the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. 'Faith, I do; her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantages, may lawfully make title to as much love as fhe finds: there is more owing her than is paid, and more fhall be paid her than fhe'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think fhe wifh'd me; alone fhe was, and did communicate to herfelf her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon : Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddefs, 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 furpris'd without refcue in the firft affault, or ranfom afterward. This fhe deliver'd in the moft bitter touch of forrow that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in; which I held it my duty fpeedily 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 n her believe nor mildoubt. Play you, leave me; neft I will speak with care; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your ho you further anon. [Exit Steward. Enter Helena. SCENE VII. Count. Ev'n fo it was with me when I was young; If we are nature's, these are ours: this thorn Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood, is born; It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth, Where love's ftrong paffion is impress'd in youth; By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults; O! then we thought them none. Her eye is fick on't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam? Count. Helen, you know I am a mother to you. Count. Nay, a mother. Why not a mother? when I faid a mother, You e'er opprefs'd me with a mother's groan, God's mercy! maiden, do's it curd thy blood, Hel. That I am not. Count. I fay I am your mother. The Count Roufillon cannot 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 can no more fear than I do fear 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-inlaw; God fhield you mean it not, daughter and mother To fay thou doft not; therefore tell me true; That truth fhould be fufpected; fpeak, is 't fo? If it be not, forfwear 't; howe'er, I charge thee, To tell me truly. Hel. Good Madam, pardon me. Count. Love you my fon? Hel. Do not you love him, Madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in 't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, difclofe 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, My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my love. 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 deferve him; And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, My dearest Madam, Dian The fun that looks upon his worshipper, Hel. Madam, I had. Count. Wherefore tell true. Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I fwear. For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me, Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, fpeak? Hel. My Lord your fon made me to think of this; Elfe Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the converfation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. Count. But think you, Helen, If you fhould tender your fuppofed aid, He would receive it? He and his phyficians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him; Hel. There's fomething hints More than my father's fkill, (which was the great'ft Shall for my legacy be fanctified By th' luckiest stars 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 fhalt have my leave and love; Means and attendants; and my loving greetings ACT II. [Exeunt. The court of France. Enter the King, with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war. Bertram and Parolles. Flourish cornets. King. Arewel, young Lords: thefe warlike prin FAre ciples Do not throw from you: you, my Lords, farewel; Share the advice betwixt you. If both gain, The gift doth ftretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both. I Lord. 'Tis our hope, Sir, After well-enter'd foldiers, to return And find your Grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart |