Then I confess.

my knee before high heaven & you.

Published by F.& C. Rivington London Ap.30.1803.

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!

Your pardon, noble mistress!

Count. Do you love my son ?
Hel.

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,1
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,

I

- captious and intenible sieve,] Dr. Farmer supposes captrous to be a contraction of capacious.

Mr. Malone thinks it means recipient, capable of receiving what is put into it; and by intenible, incapable of holding or retaining it.

* And lack not to lose still :) Helena means to say, that, like a person who pours water into a vessel full of holes, and still continues his employment, though he finds the water all lost, and the vessel empty; so, though she finds that the waters of her love are still lost, that her affection is thrown away on an object whom she thinks she never can deserve, she yet is not discouraged, but perseveres in her hopeless endeavour to accomplish her wishes.

..

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 honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O 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.

Count.

Madam, I had.

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 inclusives were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof

3 Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,] i. e. whose respectable conduct in age shorus, or proves, that you were no less virtuous when young.

• Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian

The king is render'd 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,

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.

[Exeunt.

• Embowell'd of their doctrine,] i. e. exhausted of their skill.