world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe woman if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth 'a! an' we might have a good woman born but for every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out ere 'a pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you! Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no Puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. — I am going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. Count. Well, now. [Exit. Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; [Diana, no] queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she deliver'd 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 discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tott'ring in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward. Enter HELENA. Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever 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 shew and seal of Nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were none. our faults: or then we thought them Her eye is sick on 't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam? Count. You know, Helena, I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable 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 That this distemper'd messenger of wet, Hel. That I am not. Pardon, Madam ; Count. I say I am your mother. 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 But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughterin-law: God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son; invention is asham'd, And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't. so? Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress! Count. Love you my son? 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, 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; The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam, Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian Hel. Count. Madam, I had. Wherefore? tell true. For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, To cure the desperate languishings whereof Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it? 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, 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 |