Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth.
Enter HELENA.1

By our remembrances of days foregone

Search we out faults, for2 then we thought them none.

Her eye is sick on 't: I observe her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
Count.

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Count.

You know, Helen,

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. 'T is often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care.-
God's
's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,

The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why, that you are my daughter?

Hel.

Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.

That I am not.

Pardon, madam ;

The count Rousillon cannot be my brother;
I am from humble, he from honour'd 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,

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

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,

1 This stage direction is given six lines above: in f. e. our faults; or, &c. in f. e.

2 Such were

So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 't is gross,
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, 't is so :-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' 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 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 appeach'd.

Hel.
Then, I confess, [Kneeling.1
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,

I love your son.

[Rising."

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,
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,

1 2 Not in f. e.

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, 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 manifold' experience had collected

For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'st 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 languishings whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Count.

For Paris, was it? speak.

This was your motive

Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,

'fad, 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 in 't,

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt

Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified

1 manifest: in fe.

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 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 unto thy attempt.

Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

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

SCENE 1-Paris.

Flourish.

ACT II.

A Room in the KING'S Palace. Enter KING, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.

King. Farewell, young lords. These warlike principles Do not throw from you :—and you, my lords, farewell.— Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,

The gift doth stretch itself as 't is receiv'd,

And is enough for both.

1 Lord.

"T is our hope, sir,

After well-enter'd soldiers, to return

And find your grace in health.

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) see, that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it: when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them. They say, our French lack language to deny,

If they demand: beware of being captives,
Before you serve.
Both.

Our hearts receive your warnings.

King. Farewell-Come hither to me.

[The KING retires to a couch.

1 Lord. O, my sweet lord, that you will stay be

hind us!

Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.

2 Lord. O, 't is brave wars! Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with ; "Too young," and "the next year," and "'t is too early." Par. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,

Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with. By heaven! I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There 's honour in the theft.

Par. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

1 Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks, and lustrous, a word, good metals :—you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek: it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live, and observe his reports of me.

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. [Exeunt Lords. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices!-What will you do?

[Seeing him rise.

Ber. Stay; the kingPar. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the lists of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time: there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell.

Ber. And I will do so.