you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make fuch knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, Sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not fo well that I am poor, tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but if I have your ladyship's good will to go the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. I do beg your good will in this cafe.
Count. In what cafe?

Clo. In Isbel's cafe and mine own; fervice is no heritage, and I think I fhall never have the bleffing of God, 'till I have iffue o' my body; for they fay bearns are bleffings.

Count. Tell me the reafon why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reafon?

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, fuch as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are, and indeed I do marry that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage fooner than thy wickednefs. Clo. I am out of friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's fake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. Y'are fhallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am weary of; he that teres my land, fpares my team, and gives me leave to inne the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cherifher of my flesh and blood; he that cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he that E 2

† to ere. from arare to plough.

loves

loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: : ergo, he that kiffes wife is my friend. If men could be conmy tented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poyfam the papift, howfoe'er their hearts are fever'd in religion, their heads are both one, they may joul horns together like any deer i'th' herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet, I madam, and I fpeak the truth the next way,

For I the ballad will repeat, which men full true shall find,

Your marriage comes by destiny, your cuckow fings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more

anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you, of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would fpeak with her, Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth fhe, Why the Grecians facked Troy?

Was this King Priam's joy?

With that fhe fighed as the ftood,

And gave this fentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the fong, firrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o'th fong: would God would ferve the world fo all the year, we'd find no fault with the tithe woman if I were the parfon; one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have good woman born but every blazing ftar, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one,

Count. You'll be gone, Sir knave, and do as I command you.

Clo.

Clo. That man that should be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' honefty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplis of humility over the black gown of a big heart: I am going, forfooth, the bufinefs is for Helen to come hither. [Exit.

Count. Well now.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewo man intirely.

Count. Faith I do; her father bequeath'd her to me; and fhe herfelf, without other advantages, may lawfully make title to as much love as fhe finds; there is more owing her than is paid, and more fhall be paid her than fhe'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think the wifh'd me; alone fhe was, and did communicate to her self, her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any ftranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon; Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddefs, that had put fuch difference betwixt their two eftates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level: complain'd against the queen of virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpriz'd without rescue in the first affault, or ranfom afterward. This fhe deliver'd in the moft bitter touch of forrow that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in, which I held it my duty fpeedily to acquaint you withal; fithence in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it.

Count. You have difcharg'd this honeftly, keep it to your felf; many likelihoods inform'd ine of this before, which hung fo tottering in the ballance, that I could neither believe nor mifdoubt: pray you leave me, ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honeft care; I will fpeak with you further anon. [Exit Steward.

SCENE VII.

Enter Helena.

Count. Ev'n fo it was with me when I was young; If we are nature's, these are ours: this thorn Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong,

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth, Where love's ftrong paffion is impreft in youth; By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none, Her eye is fick on't, I obferve her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ?

Count. Helen, you know, I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable miftrefs.

Count. Nay, a mother;

Why not a mother? when I faid a mother,
Methought you faw a ferpent; what's in mother,
That you ftart at it? I fay, I'm your mother,
And put you in the catalogue of thofe
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often feen
Adoption ftrives with nature, and choice breeds
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 diftemper'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 vassal die :
He must not be my brother.

Count.

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 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 ftrive upon your pulfe; what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs. Now I fee
The myft'ry of your lovelinefs, 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 hellifh obftinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth fhould be fufpected; fpeak, is't fo?
If it be fo, 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 ine truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me.
Count. Do you love my son?

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, difclofe

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;