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the puritan, and old Poysam the papist," howso'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i'the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I," madam; and I speak the truth the next way :P

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find:
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone,

sir: I'll talk with you more anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean.


Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

Fond done, done fond,

Was this king Priam's joy.

With that she sighed as she stood.
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten."


·Charbon the puritan, and Poysam the papist,] For Poysam, Mr. Malone very judiciously proposes to read Poisson, by this alteration the names would be appropriate to the sects of the parties. Charbon to the red-hot, intemperate zeal of the puritan, and Poisson to the fast-day diet of the papist.

• A prophet I,] Alluding to the vulgar superstition which is still common in the East, and was once equally prevalent among all the nations of Europe, that natural fools, have in them something of divinity. In the popular story of John Nixon, the Cheshire prophet, he is represented as an ideot. Pantagruel in Rabelais, was advised to go and consult the fool Triboulet as an oracle.DOUCE and WARBURTON.

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the next way,] i. e. Without circumlocution.-HEnley.

4 Fond done,] i. e. Foolishly done.

r There's yet one good in ten.] This second stanza is perverted into a jest upon women. The lines of the song, which the countess accuses the fool of corrupting must have run:

"If one be bad amongst nine good,

There's but one bad in ten."

This relates to the ten sons of Priam, who all behaved themselves well but Paris. For though he once had fifty, yet, at this unfortunate period of his reign, he had but ten.-WARBURton.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o'the song: : Would God would serve the world so 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 for 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 should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.—I am going forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither.

Count. Well now.

[Exit Clown.

Stew. I know madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; there is more owing hér, 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 she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put 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 night to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome

honesty no puritan,] Alluding to the obstinacy of the puritans in refusing to wear the surplice. The clown's argument is this; "Honesty will do no harm though it submit to ceremonies that it dislikes, and wear the surplice of humility over a big heart,,—a big heart is a heart great in spirit.SEYMOUR.

t only]-used for except.

afterward: This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence," in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed 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. [Exit Steward.


Count. Even 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 impress'd in youth.

By our remembrances of days foregone,

Such were our faults;—or then we thought them none.
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ?

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

You know, Helen,

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 am 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 seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:

God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
I am thy mother? What's the matter,



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That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ?*
Why? that you are my daughter?


That I am not.

Count. I say, I am your mother.


Pardon, madam;

The count Rousillon 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.


Hel. You are my mother,

Nor I your 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,

say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
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 kind they speak, it only sin

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That this distemper'd messenger of wet,


The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?] There is something exquisitely beautiful in this representation of that suffusion of colours which glimmers round the sight when the eye-lashes are wet with tears.-HENLEY.

y I care no more for than I do for heaven,] i. e. It would rejoice me as much as to obtain heaven.

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b Your salt tears' head.] The source of your tears.--JOHNSON.

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in their kind- i. e. According to their nature.—STEEVENS.

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.


Good madam, pardon me!

Count. Do you love my son?

Your pardon, noble mistress!

Count. Love you my 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.

Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
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 should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,d
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: 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,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,


d captious and intenible sieve,] The allusion is to the story of the daughters of Danaus. Captious means recipient, capable of receiving what is put into it; and intenible, incapable of holding it.-MALONE.

e And lack not to lose still :] i. e. And fail not constantly to lose the waters of her love.-MALONE.

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


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