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mand you?

“ Was this King Priam's joy.
“ With that the sighed as the stood,
And gave this sentence 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, Sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, Ma lam, which is a purifying o'th' long : ’would, God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the Parsons; one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing ftar, 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 com,

Clo. That man that should be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' honesty be no pu. ritan, 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 she 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 shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, the wilh'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears ; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any franger sense. Her matter was, the lov'd your fon ; Fortune, the faid, was no Goddess, (5) that had put

fuch (s) Fortune, she said, was no Goddess, &c. Love, no God, &c. complain'd against the Queen of Virgins, &c.] This Passage Itands thus in the old Copies :


fuch 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 she deliver'd in the most 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 loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know

Count. You have discharg'd this honestly, keep it to yourself; many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung lo tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt ; pray you, leave me ; stall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest 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 ;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is imprest in youth ;

Love, no God, that would not extend his Might only where Qualities were level, Queen of Virgins, that would suffer her poor Kright, &c.

'Tis evident to every sensible Reader that something must have Nipe out here, by which the Meaning of the context is sender'd defective. The Steward is speaking in the very Words he overheard of the Young Lady; Fortune was no Goddess, she said, for one Reason ; Love, no God, for another; what could she then more naturally subjoin, than as I have amended in the Text?

Diana, no Queen of Virgins, that would suffer her poor Knight to be surpriz'd without Rescue, &c.

For in Poetical History Diana was as well known to preside over Chastity, as Cupid over Love, or Fortine over the Change of Regulation of our Circumstances.


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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.
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'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 feeds.
You ne'er oppreft me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express 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 ?

that you are my daughter?
Hel. That I am not.
Count. I say, 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 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

mother? Hel. You are my mother, Madam; 'would you were, (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother) Indeed, my motber!-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 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 fee (6)
The myft'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is alham'd,
Againft the proclamation of thy paffion,
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 fo grofly shown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they speak it: only fin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected; speak, is't fo?
If it be so, you've wound a goodly clew:
If it be not, furswear'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 son?
Hel. 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,
Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

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Now I fee
The mystry of your loveliness, and find
Tour salt tears' bead :-

-) The Myftery of her Loveliness beyond my Comprehension: The old Couniels 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 Poet meant, his old Lady should say no more than this: “ I now find the Mystery of your creeping into Corners, and weeping, and pining in secret.” For this Rea. son I have amended the Text, Loneliness. The Steward, in the foregoing Scene, where he gives the Countess Intelligence of Helen's Behaviour, says;

Alone She was, and did communicate to herself her own Words to her own Ears,


Hel. Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you,
That before you, and next unto high heav'n,
I love

fon :
My friends were poor, but honest ; fo's


Be not offended ; for it hurts not him,
That he is loy'd of me; I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous fuit;
Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him ;
Yet never know, how that desert shall be.
I know, I love in vain ; ftrive against hope ;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose ftill; thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The fun that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my love,
For loving where you do; but if your self,
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; Other, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot chule
But lend, and give, where she is sure to lose ;
That seeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweerly, 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 it self, 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 sov'reignty; and that he willd me,
In heedfull’ft 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,


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