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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 suffer 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

it.

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

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

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 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 speaking in the very Words he overheard of the Young Lady; Fortune was no Goddess, fhe faid, 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 Fortune over the Change or 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 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 ferpent; 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 flip 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?
Why, -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 fervant 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 heav'n, So I were not his fister: 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?

M

My fear hath catch'd your fondness. -Now I see (6)
The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears' head; now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my fon; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost 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 so grofly shown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they speak it: only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected; speak, is't so?
If it be so, you've wound a goodly clew:
If it be not, forswear'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, disclose
The state of your affection; for your paffions
Have to the full appeach'd.

(6)

Now I fee

The myst'ry of your loveliness, and find

Your falt tears' head :) The Mystery of her Loveliness is beyond my Comprehenfion: 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 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 Reason 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.

:

Hel. Then, I confefs,

Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you,
That before you, and next unto high heav'n,
I love your son :

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 shall be.
I know, I love in vain; strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible fieve,
I ftill pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still; 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,
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; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot chuse
But lend, and give, where she is sure to lofe;
That seeks not to find that, which search implies;
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly, where the 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 fov'reignty; and that he will'd me,
In heedfull'st 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,

To

To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The King is render'd loft.

Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, speak?
Hel. My lord your fon 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.

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 it felf?

Hel. There's something in't

More than my father's skill, (which was the great'ft
Of his Profession,) that his good receipt

Shall for my legacy be sanctified

By th' luckiest stars in heav'n; and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture

The well-loft life of mine on his Grace's Cure,

By such a day and hour.

Count. Doft 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:
Begone, to morrow; and be sure of this,

What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

[Exeunt

ACT

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