Hel. Pardon, madam.

The Count Roufillon 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 fervant live, and will his vaffal 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 heav'n,

So I were not his fifter; 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

So strive upon your pulse; what, pale again?

My fear hath catch'd your fondness.

Now I fee
The myst'ry of your loveliness, and find
Your falt tears head; now to all fense 'tis gross,
You love my fon; invention is asham'd
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou doft not; therefore tell me true,
But tell me then 'tis fo. For look, thy cheeks
Confefs it one to th' other, and thine eyes
See it so grofly shown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they speak it: only fin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be fufpected; fpeak, is't fo?
If it be so, you've wound a goodly clew:
If it be not, forfwear't; howe'er I charge thee,
As heav'n fhall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me.

Count. Do you love my fon?

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress.

Count. Love you my fon?

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 paffions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then I confefs

Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you,
That before you, and next unto high heav'n,
I love your fon:

My friends were poor, but honeft; fo'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 prefumptuous fuit,

Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him,
Yet never know how that defert fhould be:
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet in this captious and intenible five,
I still pour in the water of my love,
And lack not to lose ftill; thus Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The fun that looks upon his worshipper,

But know of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my love,
For loving where you do; but if your self,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in so true a flame of liking
Wish chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both her felf and love; O then give pity
To her whofe ftate is fuch, that cannot chufe

But

But lend and give where fhe is fure to lose;
That feeks not to find that which fearch implies,
But riddle like, lives fweetly where the dies.

Count. Had you not lately an intent, fpeak truly,
To go to Paris?

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth, by grace it self I fwear;
You know my father left me fome prescriptions
Of rare and prov❜d effects, such as his reading
And manifest experience had collected
For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whofe faculties inclufive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd fet down,

To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The King is render'd lost.

Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, fpeak?
Hel. My lord your fon made me to think of this;
Elfe Paris, and the medicine and the King,

Had from the converfation of my thoughts

Haply been absent then.

If

Count. But think you, Helen,

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 fhall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,

Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off

The danger to it self?

Hel. There's fomething in't

More than my father's skill, which was the great'ft

Of

Of his profeffion, that his good receipt

Shall for my legacy be fanctified

By th' luckiest stars in heav'n; and would your honour
But give me leave to try fuccefs, I'd venture

The well-loft life of mine on his grace's cure,

By fuch a day and hour..

Count. Do'st 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 bleffing into thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow, and be fure of this,
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The Court of France.

Enter the King, with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war. Bertram and Parolles. Flourish Cornets.

F

KING.

AREWEL, young lords: these warlike principles

Do not throw from you; you, my lords, fare

wel;

After well-enter'd foldiers, to return

And find your Grace in health.

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confefs it owns the malady

That doth my life befiege; farewel, young lords,
Whether I live or die, be you the fons
Of worthy French men; let higher Italy,
(Those bated that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) fee that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when

The bravest questant shrinks, find what you feek,
That fame may cry you loud: I fay, farewel.

2 Lord. Health at your bidding ferve your majefty.
King. Thofe girls of Italy, take heed of them;
They say our French lack language to deny
If they demand: beware of being captives

Before you ferve.

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings.

King. Farewel. Come hither to me.

[To Bert.]

[Exit.

1 Lord. Oh, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us. Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark----

2 Lord. Oh 'tis brave wars.

Par. Moft admirable; I have seen those wars.

Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with

Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.

Par. And thy mind---- stand to it, boy; fteal away bravely. Ber. Shall I ftay here the forehorse to a smock,

Creeking my fhoes on the plain masonry,

'Till honour be bought up, and no fword worn But one to dance with? by heav'n I'll steal away. I Lord. There's honour in the theft.

Par. Commit it, Count.

2 Lord. I am your acceffary, and fo farewel.

• question.

Ber.