網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版
[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

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, 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 tythe-woman, if I were the Parson; 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 furplis of humility over the black gown of a big heart: I am going, forfooth, the bufinefs is for Helen to come hither.

Count. Well, now.

[Exit.

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 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 the 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 tranger fenfe. Her matter was, the lov'd your fon; Fortune, the faid, was no Goddess, (5) that had put fuch

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

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 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 fpeedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it.

Count. You have difcharg'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 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.

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

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 impreft in youth;

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

'Tis evident to every sensible Reader that something must have flipt out here, by which the Meaning of the Context is render'd defective. The Steward is fpeaking in the very Words he overheard of the Young Lady; Fortune was no Goddess, fhe faid, for one Reafon; Love, no God, for another; what could She then more naturally fubjoin, than as I have amended in the Text?

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

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

By

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 miftrefs.

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 seen,
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 son, 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

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 afham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy paffion,
To fay, thou doft 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 speak it: only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth fhould be fufpected; speak, 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 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, difclofe The state of your affection; for your paffions

Have to the full appeach'd.

(6)

Now I fee

The mystry of your loveliness, and find

Tour falt tears' head:

-] The Myftery 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 say no more than this: "I now find the Mystery of your creeping into Corners, and weeping, and pining in fecret." For this Reafon I have amended the Text, Loneliness. The Steward, in the foregoing Scene, where he gives the Countess Intelligence of Helen's Behaviour, fays;

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

Hel.

1

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 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 deferve him;
Yet never know, how that defert shall be.
I know, I love in vain; ftrive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I ftill pour in the waters 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 dearest Madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my love,
For loving where you do; but if your felf,
Whofe aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in fo true a flame of liking
With chaftly, and love dearly, that your
Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot chufe
But lend, and give, where fhe is fure to lofe;
That feeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweetly, where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
to Paris?

Το

go

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by Grace it felf, I fwear.
You know, my father left me fome prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects; fuch as his reading
And manifest experience had collected

For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me,
In heedfull'ft refervation to bestow them,
As notes, whofe faculties inclufive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,

To

« 上一頁繼續 »