Puslapio vaizdai

"Why the Grecians facked Troy?
"Fond done, fond done ;-for Paris he
"Was this King Priam's joy.

"With that the fighed as the ftood, (7)


And from him I received that fupplement, which I have given to the text, and the following juftification of it. "I will firft proceed

to justify my fenfe and emendation, and then account for the cor"ruption. In the first place, 'tis plain, the last line should not "have been read with an interrogation: For was Helen King "Priam's joy? No, furely, fhe was not. Who then? why, the "hiftorians tell us it was Paris, who was his favourite fon. And "how natural was it, when this be (whoever fhe was,) had faid, 66 was this the face that ruin'd Troy? to fall into a moral reflection, "and fay, what a fond deed was this! Priam's mifery proceeded "from him, that was his only joy. This is exactly agreeable to "the fimplicity of thofe ancient fongs: as the phrafe, For Paris "be is to their mode of locution. So far we have the genius of "the Ballad, hiftory, and the context, to make it probable. An ❝ obfervation upon the ensuing flansa may make it clear to demon▪ "stration."

I will only fubjoin, in confirmation of my friend's ingenious conjecture, that, in The Maid in the Mill by Beaumont and Fletcher, I find a fcrap of another old ballad upon the fame fubject, most nearly correfponding with ours.

And here fair Paris comes,
The hopeful youth of Troy;
Queen Hecuba's darling fon,
King Priam's only joy.

(7) With that fhe fighed, as fhe flood,
And gave this fentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.]

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This 2d ftanza is a joke turn'd upon the women: a confeffion that there was one good in ten. Upon which the Countess fays, "What! "one good in ten! you corrupt the fong, firrah".This fhews, that the fenfe of the fong was, one bad only in ten; or, nine good in ten: and this clears up the mystery. The 2d ftanza was certainly thus in the old ballad.

With that fhe fighed as fhe flood,
And gave this fentence then;
If one be bad among ft nine good,

There's but one bad in ten.

A vifible continuation of the thought, as amended, in the latter part of the firft ftanza: and it relates to the ten fons of Priam, who all behaved themfelves well except this Paris. But why Priam's ten fons, may it not be afk'd, when univerfal tradition has given him


"And gave this fentence then;
* Among
nine bad if one be good,
"There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the fong, firrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o' th' fong: would, God would ferves the world fo all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parfon; one in ten, qoutha'! 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 i pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, Sir knave, and do as I com mand you.

Clo. That man that should be at a woman's com mand, 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 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 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 the'll demand.

Staw Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, the wifh'd me; alone fhe 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

fifty? To this I reply, that, at the time of this unfortunate part of his reign, he had but ten. To these this fongfter alludes. They were, Agathon, Antiphon, Deiphobus, Dius, Hector, Helenus, Hippothous, Pammon, Paris and Polites. It feems particularly humorous in the clown, (and fuiting with the licence of his character, as a jefter ;) all at once to deprave the text of the ballad, and turn it to a farcafm upon the women. Mr. Warburton,


ftranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon; Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddefs, (8) that had put 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 first 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 yourself; many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hang fo tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor mifdoubt; pray you, leave me; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honeft 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, thefe are ours: this thorn

Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood, is born;

(8) Fortune, fh: 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.

Love, no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities" were level, Queen of virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight, &c. 'Tis evident to every fenfible reader that fomething must have slip'd out here, by which the meaning of the context is render'd defective. There are no traces for the words, [complain'd against the] which I take to have been first conjecturally fupply'd by Mr. Rowe. But the form of the fentence is intirely alter'd by their infertion; and they, at best, make but a botch. The steward is speaking in the very words he overheard of the young Lady; fortune was no goddess, she said, for one reafon; love no god, for another;---what could the then more naturally fubjoin, than as I have amended in the text?

Diana no Queen of virgins, that would fuffer ber foor Knight to be furpriz'd without rescue, &c.

For in poetical hiftory Diana was as well known to prefide over chafity, as Cupid over love, or Fortune over the change or regulation of our circumftances.



It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth,

Where love's strong paffion is impreft in youth;

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 pleafure, 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 faid a mother,
Methought, you faw a ferpent; what's in mother,
That you start at it? I fay, I'm your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often feen,
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 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: 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 fear hath catch'd your fondnefs.-Now I fee (9)
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 hellifh obftinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth fhould be fufpected; fpeak, 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 miftrefs.

Count. Love you my son ?

Hel. Do not you love him, Madam ?

Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Now I fee


The myftry of your loveliness, and find

Your falt tears bead:: -].

The mystery of her lovelinef is beyond my comprehenfion: The old Countess is faying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in reproach, that this word should 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 should fay 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, lonelinefs. The fteward, in the foregoing fcene, where he gives the Countess intelligence of Helen's behaviour fays;

Alone he was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her

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The author has ufed the word loneliness, to fgnify a perfon's being alone, again in his Hamlet


We will beftow ourselves read on this book;

That fhew of fuch an exercife may colour
Your loneliness.

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prow fod


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