you for

suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransom 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

youl honest care. I will speak with you further anon.

[Exit Steward. Enter HELENA. 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 impressed 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.

Hei. What is your pleasure, madam ?
Count.

You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honorable mistress.
Count.

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 oppressed me with a mother's groan,

eye?

Yet I express to you a mother's care :-
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distempered messenger of wet,
The many-colored Iris, rounds thine
Why ?- That you are my daughter?
Hel.

That I am not. Count. I

say,

I am your mother. Hel.

Pardon, madam The count Rousillon cannot be

my

brother:
I am from humble, he from honored 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.
Count.

Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my 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,2
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother ?

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-
God shield, you mean it not! daughter and mother
So strive 3 upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catched your fondness : now I see
The mystery of your loneliness,4 and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son ; invention is ashamed,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To
say,

Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors,
That in their kind 1 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 clew;
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 my son ?
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 appeached.
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 loved 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,
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 honor 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 ;-0 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 proved effects, such as his reading, And manifest experience, had collected For general sovereignty; and that he willed me In heedfulest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note. Amongst the rest, There is a remedy approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is rendered lost. Count.

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

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,
Embowelled 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 honor
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 believe'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.

[Exeunt.

1 Exhausted of their skill.
2 The old copy reads-in't. The emendation is Hanmer's.

3 Into for unto-a common form of expression with old writers. The third folio reads unto.