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my son ?

You love my son; invention is asham’d,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To 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
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.
HEL.

Good madam, pardon me. COUNT. Do

you

love HEL.

Your pardon, noble mistress ! Count. Love you my son ? 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 passions Have to the full appeach'd. HEL.

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,

,

more.

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

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, Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love; Ö then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she 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 itself, 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 sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest 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 cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.
Count.

This was your motive For Paris, was it ? speak.

a

HEL. My lord your son 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 itself?
HEL.

There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the

greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall

, for my legacy, be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your

honour
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
By such a day, and hour.
COUNT.

Dost 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: Be

gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, A. 1, s. 3.

GOOD AND EVIL IN NATURE. THE grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of

light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels, From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's

wheels : Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours, With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb: And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find; Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. 0, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good, but, strain’d

from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself, turns vice, being misapplied ; And vice sometime's by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and med’cine power: For this, being smelt, with its odour cheers each

part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such

them still In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will; And, where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

encamp

ROMEO AND JULIET, A. 2, s. 3.

opposed foes

GOOD BY NATURE. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 1.

GOOD, IF TENDERED IN LOVE.

O, SIR, you are old; Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discerns

your

state Better than you yourself.

KING LEAR, A. 2, s. 4.

:

GOOD MEN IN POWER REQUIRE THE

SYMPATHY OF THEIR FRIENDS. How chance, thou art not with the prince thy

brother? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; Thou hast a better place in his affection, Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy; And noble offices hou may'st effect Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren :Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love: Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, By seeming cold, or careless of his will. For he is gracious, if he be observ’d; He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incens’d, he's flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden

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