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"Was this King Priam's joy.
"With that she 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, Sirrah.

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 tythe-woman, if I were the Parfon ; one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, 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. That man that fhould 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.

Count. Well, now.


Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman intirely.

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

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, fhe wifh'd me; alone fhe was, and did communicate to herself 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 Goddess, (5) that had put fuch

(5) Fortune, fpe faid, was no Goddess, &c. Love, no God, &c. complain'd against the Queen of Vir gins, &c.] This Paffage ftands thus in the old Gopies :

fuch difference betwixt their two eftates; Love, no God, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpriz'd without refcue in the firft affault, or ranfom afterward. This fhe deliver'd in the most 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


Count. You have difcharg'd this honeftly, keep it to yourfeif; many likelihoods inform me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor mifdoubt; pray you, leave me ; stall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest care; I will speak with you further anon.

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

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;

Love, no God, that would not extend bis Might only where Qualities were level, Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer ber poor Knight, &c.

'Tis evident to every fenfible Reader that fomething muft have flipt out here, by which the Meaning of the Context is render'd defective. The Steward is speaking in the very Words he overheard of the Young Lady; Fortune was no Goddess, she said, for one Reafon; Love, no God, for another ;what could She then more naturally fubjoin, than as I have amended in the Text?

Diana, no Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpriz'd without Rescue, &c.

For in Poetical Hiftory Diana was as well known to prefide over Chastity, as Cupid over Love, or Fortune over the Change or Regulation of our Circumstances..


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 mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother;

Why not a mother? when I faid a mother,
Methought, you faw a ferpent; what's in mother,
That you start at it? I fay, I'm your mother ;
And put you in the catalogue of those,
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


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 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 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 (6)
The myft'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is asham'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 obstinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth fhould be fufpected; speak, 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 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, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your paffions

Have to the full appeach'd.


-Now I fee

The myft'ry of your lovelinefs, and find
Your falt tears' bead :-

-] The Mystery of her Loveliness is beyond my Comprehenfion : The old Countess is faying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in Reproach, that this Word should find a place here; which it could not, unless farcaftically employ'd, and with fome Spleen. I dare warrant, the Poet meant, his old Lady should say no more than this: "I now find the Mystery of your creeping into "Corners, and weeping, and pining in fecret." For this Reafon I have amended the Text, Loneliness. The Steward, in the foregoing Scene, where he gives the Countefs Intelligence of Helen's Behaviour, fays;

Alone She was, and did communicate to herself her own Words to her own Ears.


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 fhall 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 deareft Madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my love,
For loving where you do; but if your felf,
Whofe aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in fo true a flame of liking
With chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whofe ftate is fuch, that cannot chuse
But lend, and give, where she is fure to lofe;
That feeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweetly, where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, fpeak truly,
To go to Paris?

Bel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by Grace it felf, I fwear.
You know, my father left me fome prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects; fuch as his reading
And manifeft experience had collected

For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me,
In heedfull'ft refervation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclufive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, fet down,


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