Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am you 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 :

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 care no more for, than I do for heav'n.' So I were not his fifter 5: can't no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in

law;

6

Now I fee

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulfe! what pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs.
'The myft'ry of your loneliness, and find
7 Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is asham'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 fhewn 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.

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
fon:

My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my love g
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 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 fieve,
I ftill pour in the waters of my love,

8

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 deareft Madam, hate encounter with my love,

Let not your
Fo loving where you do; but if yourself,
Whofe aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in so true a flame of liking
Wish chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and Love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is fuch, that cannot chufe
But lend, and give, where fhe is fure to lofe;
That seeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweetly where he dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?

Hel. Madam, I had.
Count. Wherefore? tell true.

* Captious and intenible fieve.] The word captious I never found in this fenfe; yet I cannot tell what to substitute, unless carious

for rotten, which yet is a word more likely to have been mistaken by the copyers than used by the authour.

Hel.

Hel. I will tell truth; by Grace itself, I fwear. You know, my father left me fome prefcriptions Of rare and prov'd effects; fuch as his reading And manifeft 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 reft,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,

To cure the defperate 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; Elfe Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the converfation of my thoughts, Haply, been abfent then.

Count. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your fuppofed aid,
He would receive it? he and his phyficians
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 itself?

I

Hel. There's fomething hints

More than my father's fkill (which was the great'st
Of his Profeffion) that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be fanctified

By th' luckieft ftars in heav'n; and, would your ho

nour

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 believ't?

Hel. Ay, Madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou fhalt have my leave and love:

Means and attendants; and my loving greetings
To thofe of mine in Court. I'll stay at home,
And pray God's bleffing into thy attempt:
Begone, to-morrow; and be fure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not mifs.

ACT II. S SCENE I.

1.

The Court of France.

Enter the King, with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war. Bertram and Parolles. Flourish Cornets.

[Exeunt.

2 In all the latter copies these lines flood thus:

KING.

Arewel, young Lords. Thefe warlike principles Do not throw from you. You, my Lords, farewel;

Farewel, young Lords; thefe
warlike principles

You,

Do not throw from you.
my Lords, farevel;
Share the advice betwixt you ;
if both again,

Share

The gift doth ftretch itself as 'tis receiv'd.] The third line in that ftate was unintelligible. Sir Thomas Hanmer reads thus:

Farewel young Lord, these war. like principles

D.