And put you in the catalogue of those,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds.
7 A native flip to us from foreign feeds.
You ne'er oppreft me with a mother's groan,
Yet I exprefs to you a mother's care:

God's mercy! maiden, do's it curd thy blood,
To fay, I am thy mother? what's the matter,
That this distemper'd meffenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eyes?
Why, that you are my daughter?
Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am your mother.
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 mafter, 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 fon, were not my brother) Indeed, my mother! or were you both our mothers (I can no more fear, than I do fear heav'n,)

--

So

7 A native flip to us from foreign feeds.] The integrity of the metaphor requires we fhould read STEADS, i. e. ftocks, ftools, (as they are called by the gardeners,) from whence young hips or fuckers are propagated. And it is not unlikely that Shakespear might write it fo.

8

— or were you both our mothers

I CARE no more FOR, than I do FOR heav'n,

So I were not his fifter:] The fecond line has not the leaft glimmering of fenfe Helen, by the indulgence and invitation of her miftrefs, is encouraged to difcover the hidden caufe of her grief; which is the love of her miftrefs's fon; and taking hold of her mistress's words, where the bids her call her mother, the unfolds

the

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 daughterin-law;

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulfe! what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs.----Now I fee
'The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is afham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy paffion,
To fay, 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 fo grofly fhown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind they fpeak it: only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth fhould 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. 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,

the mystery: and, as fhe is difcovering it, emboldens herself by this reflexion, in the line in queftion, as it ought to be read in a parenthefis,

(I CAN no more FEAR, than I do FEAR heav'n,)

i. e. I can no more fear to truft fo indulgent a miftrefs with the fecret than I can fear heav'n who has my vows for its happy iffue. This break, in her discovery, is exceeding pertinent and fine. Here again the Oxford Editor does his part.

9. The mystery of your loveliness,] We fhould read loneliness, or delight in folitude, as is the humour of lovers.

C 4

Whereof

Whereof the world takes note: come, come, difclofe
The ftate 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 deferve him;
Yet never know, how that defert shall be.
I know, I love in vain; ftrive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible fieve,
I ftill pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lofe ftill; thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The fun that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam,
Let not your hate incounter 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
Wifh chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whofe ftate is fuch, that cannot chufe
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 fhe 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 fwear. You know, my father left me fome prefcriptions Of rare and prov'd effects; fuch as his reading

And

And manifeft experience had collected
For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me,
In heed full'ft refervation to beftow them,

As notes, whofe faculties inclusive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,
To cure the defperate languifhings, whereof
The King is render'd loft.

Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, speak?

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 fhould tender your fuppofed aid,

He would receive it? he and his phyficians

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 fchools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off

The danger to itself?

Hel. 3 There's fomething hints

2

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

1-supposed aid,] fuppofed for propping, fupporting.

2

the fchools

Embowell'd of their doctrine,] the expreffion is beautifully fatirical, and implies, that the theories of the fchools are fpun out of the bowels of the profeffors, like the cobwebs of the spider.

3 There's fomething IN'T

More than my father's skill

that his good receipt, &c.] Here is an inference, [that] without any thing preceeding, to which it refers, which makes the fentence vicious, and fhews that we fhould read,

There's fomething HINTS

More than my father's skill,

that his good receipt ·

i.. I have a fecret premonition or prefage.

Of

Of his Profeffion,) that his good receipt

Shall for my legacy be fanctified

By th' luckieft ftars 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. Doft thou believ't?

Hel. Ay, Madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou fhalt 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:
Begone, 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.

KING.

Farewel, young Lords: these warlike principles

Do not throw from you: you, my Lords, farewel; Share the advice betwixt you. If both gain, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,

And is enough for both.

1 Lord. 'Tis our hope, Sir,

After well-enter'd foldiers, to return
And find your Grace in health.