Laf. [Returns.] Nay, come your ways.

[Bringing in Helena.

King. This hafte hath wings, indeed.
Laf. Nay, come your ways,

This is his Majefty, fay your mind to him
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
His Majefty feldom fears; I'm Creffid's uncle,
That dare leave two together; fare you well.

[Exit.

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
Hel. Ay, my good Lord.

Gerard de Narbon was my father,

In what he did profefs, well found.
King. I knew him.

Hel. The rather will I fpare my praise towards him; Knowing him, is enough: on's bed of death

Many receipts he gave me, chiefly one,

Which as the dearest iffue of his practice,
And of his old experience th' only darling,
He bade me ftore up, as a triple eye,

Safer than mine own two: more dear I have fo;
And hearing your high Majefty is touch'd
With that malignant caufe, wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift ftands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.

King. We thank you, maiden;
But may not be fo credulous of cure,

When our most learned doctors leave us; and
The congregated college have concluded,
That labouring art can never ranfom nature
From her unaidable eftate: we must not
So ftain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our paft cure malady
To empericks; or to diffever fo

Our great felf and our credit, to esteem

A fenfelefs help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty then fhall pay me for my pains ;
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly intreating from your royal thoughts
A modeft one to bear me back again.

B 2

King.

King. I cannot give thee lefs, to be call'd grateful;
Thou thought'ft to help me, and fuch thanks I give,
As one near death to those that with him live;
But what at full I know, thou know'ft no part;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you fet up your reft 'gainst remedy.
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister :
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,

When judges have been babes; great floods have flown
From fimple fources; and great seas have dry'd,
When mir'cles have by th' greatest been deny'd.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there

Where moft it promifes: and oft it hits
Where hope is coldeft, and defpair moft fits.

King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind
Maid;

Thy pains, not us'd, muft by thyfelf be paid :
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
Hel. Infpired merit fo by breath is barr'd :
It is not fo with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us, that fquare our guess by shows:
But moft it is prefumption in us, when
The help of heav'n we count the act of men.
Dear Sir, to my endeavours give confent,
Of heav'n, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impoftor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim;

But know, I think, and think I know moft fure,
My art is not paft power, nor you past cure.

King. Art thou fo confident? within what space
Hop'ft thou my cure?

Hel. The greateft grace lending grace,
Ere twice the horses of the fun fhall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moift Hesperus hath quench'd his fleepy lamp;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glafs
Hatn told the thievish minutes how they pass;

What

What is infirm from your found parts fhall fly,
Health fhall live free, and fickness freely die.
King. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'ft thou venture?

Hel. Tax of impudence,

A ftrumpet's boldness, a divulged fhame
Traduc'd by odious ballads: my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwife, no worfe of worst extended;
With vileft torture let my life be ended.

King. Methinks, in thee fome bleffed Spirit doth speak

His powerful found, within an organ weak ;
And what impoffibility would flay

~ In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate:
(9) Youth, beauty, wifdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime can happy call;
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monftrous defperate.
Sweet practifer, thy phyfick I will try
That minifters thine own death, if I die.

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property

Of what I fpoke, unpitied let me die,

And well deferv'd! Not helping, death's my fee;
But if I help, what do you promise me?

(9) Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all, &c.] This Verfe is too short by a Foot; and apparently some Dissyllable is drop'd out by Mifchance. Mr. Warburton concurr'd with me in Conjecture to fupply the Verfe thus:

Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all, &c.

Helena, had laid a particular Stress on her maiden Reputation;" and the King afterwards, when he comes to speak of her to Bertram, fays,

If fhe be

All that is virtuous, (fave, What thou diflik'ft,
A poor Phyfician's Daughter ;) thon diflik't
Of Virtue for ber name:

King. (10) Make thy demand,

Hel. But will you make it even?

King. Ay, by my fcepter, and my hopes of heaven. Hel. Then fhalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What Husband in thy power I will command. Exempted be from me the arrogance

To chufe from forth the royal blood of France}
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state:
But fuch a one thy vaffal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King. Here is my Hand, the premises obferv'd,
Thy will by my performance fhall be ferv'd :
So, make the choice of thine own time; for I,
Thy refolv'd Patient, on thee ftill rely.

More fhould I queftion thee, and more I must;
(Tho' more to know, could not be more to trust :)
From whence thou cam'ft, how tended on,- but rest
Unqueftion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.
Give me fome help here, hoa! if thou proceed
As high as word, my deed fhall match thy deed.
[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Roufillon.

Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. COME on, Sir; I fhall now put you to the

height of your breeding.

Clown. I will fhew my felf highly fed, and lowly taught; I know, my business is but to the court.

(10) King. Make thy Demand.

Hel. But will you make it even?

King. Ay, by my Scepter, and my hopes of help.] The King could have but a very flight Hope of Help from her, fcarce enough to fwear by and therefore Helen might fufpect, he meant to equivocate with her. Befides, obferve, the greatest Part of the Scene is ftrictly in Rhyme : and there is no Shadow of Reason why it should be interrupted here. I rather imagine, the Poet wrote;

Ay, by my Scepter, and my Hopes of Heaven. Dr. Thirlby.

Count.

Count. But to the court? why, what place make you fpecial, when you put off that with fuch contempt; but

to the court !

Clo. Truly, Madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may eafily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kifs his hand, and fay nothing, has neither leg, hand, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, fuch a fellow, to fay precifely, were not for the court: but for me, I have an answer will ferve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.

Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks ; the pin buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock.

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffaty punk, as Tib's ruth for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuefday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a fcolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin.

Count. Have you, I fay, an answer of such fitness for all questions?

Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your conftable, it will fit any question.

Count. It must be an answer of most monftrous fize, that must fit all demands.

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned fhould speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me, if I am a courtier ; it fhall do you

no harm to learn.

Count. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in a question, hoping to be the wifer by your answer. I pray you, Sir, are you a courtier ?

Clo. O lord, Sir

there's a fimple putting off: more, more, a hundred of them.

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves

you.

Clo. O lord, Sir

thick, thick, fpare not me.

Count.

B 4