Puslapio vaizdai
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Her eye is fick on't; I observe her now.
HEL. What is your pleasure, madam ?
Cou. You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

HEL. Mine honourable mistress.
Cou. 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 am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those,

That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often feen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native flip to us from foreign feeds:
You ne'er oppreff'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I exprefs to you a mother's care: -
God's mercy, maiden! does 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 eye?
Why? that you are my daughter?

HEL. "That I am not. ""

Cou. I fay, I am your mother.
HEL. Pardon, madam;

The count Rofillion 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 dye :
He must not be my brother.

Cou. 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't care no more for't than I do for heaven,

So I were not his fifter: Can't no other,

But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

Cou. 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 fondness: Now I fee
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears' head. Now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is afham'd,
Againft 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 the other; and thine eyes
See it fo grofly fhown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only fin,
And hellish obstinacy tye thy tongue,

That truth fhould be fufpected: Speak, is't fo?
If it be fo, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forfwear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven fhall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

HEL. Good madam, pardon me !
Cou. Do you love my fon ?

HEL. Your pardon, noble miftrefs!

Cou. Love you my fon?

HEL. Do not you love him, madam ?

Cou. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,

Whereof the world takes note: come, come, difclose

The state of your affection; for your paffions

Have to the full appeach'd.

9 lovelineffe

HEL. Then I confefs,

Here on my knee, before high heaven, and you, That, before you, and next unto high heaven,

I love

your

fon:

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My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous fuit;

love :

Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him;
Yet never know, how that desert fhould 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 ftill: thus, Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The fun, that looks upon his worshiper,
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,
Did ever, in so 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 ftate is fuch, that cannot choose
But lend, and give, where she is fure to lose;
That feeks not to find that, her search implies,
But, riddle like, lives fweetly where the dies.
Cou. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?

HEL. Madam, I had.

Cou. Wherefore?

'Tell true.

HEL. I will tell you true; by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me fome prescriptions,
Of rare, and prov'd effects, fuch as his reading,
And manifeft experience, had collected
For general fovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfulleft reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclufive were
More than they were in note: among'st the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,

To cure the defperate languishings, whereof
The king is render'd loft.

Cou. This was your motive

For Paris, was it, speak?

HEL. My lord your fon made me to think of this;

Elfe Paris, and the med'cine, and the king,

Had, from the converfation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.

Čou. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your fupposed 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,
Embowel'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?

HEL. There's something hints,

More than my father's fkill, which was the greatest
Of his profeffion, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be fanctify'd

By the luckieft ftars in heaven: and, would your
But give me leave to try fuccefs, I'd venture
The well-loft life of mine on his grace's cure,

26 -thing in't

honour

By fuch a day, and hour.

Cou. Doft thou believe,'t?

HEL. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Cou. 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 bleffing unto thy attempt:

Be

gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

What I can help thee to, thou shalt not mifs. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, attended; divers young Lords, taking leave for the Florentine War; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES.

Kin. Farewel, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you:—and you, my lords, farewel: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,

The gift doth ftretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,

And is enough for both.

1. L. 'Tis our hope, fir,

After well-enter'd foldiers, to return

And find your grace in health.

Kin. No, no, it cannot be ; and

yet my heart

Will not confefs, he owes the malady

That doth my life befiege. Farewel, young lords
Whether I live, or dye, be you the fons
Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy
(Those bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the laft monarchy) fee, that you come

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