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that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.
Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
Which men full true shall find;
Your cuckoo sings 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 speak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[Singing. Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond,
Was this king Priam's joy. & A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:] It is a superstition, which has run through all ages and people, that natural fools have something in them of divinity. On which account they were esteemed sacred: Travellers tell us in what esteem the Turks now hold them; nor had they less honour paid them heretofore in France, as appears from the old word benet, for a natural fool. Next way, is nearest way.
9 IPas this fair face the cause, &c.) The name of Helen, whom
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
There's yet one good in ten.
Člo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o'the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson: 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 should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!?_Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.
[Exit Clown. Count. Well, now.
the Countess has just called for, brings an old ballad on the sacking of Troy to the Clown's mind. Fond done is foolishly done.
twould mend the lottery well;] This surely is a strange kind of phraseology. I have never met with any example of it in any of the contemporary writers; and if there were any proof that in the lotteries of Queen Elizabeth's time wheels were employed, I should be inclined to read-lottery wheel. MALONE.
Clo. That man, &c.] Here is an allusion, violently enough forced in, to satirize the obstinacy with which the puritans refused the use of the ecclesiastical habits, which was, at that time, one principal cause of the breach of the union, and, perhaps, to insinuate, that the modest purity of the surplice was sometimes a cover for pride.
Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.
Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense.
Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward: This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence,s in the loss that
may happen, it concerns you something to know it.
Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
Enter Helena. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hei. What is your pleasure, madam?
You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Nay, a mother;
That I am not. Count. I say,
Pardon, madam; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am your
4 By our remembrances-] That is, according to our recollec. tion. So we say, he is old by my reckoning. Johnson.
What's the matter,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ?] There is something exquisitely beautiful in this representation of that suffusion of colours which glimmers round the sight when the eye-lashes are wet with tears. HENLEY.
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
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 heaven, So I were not his sister: 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
6 I care no more for,] There is a designed ambiguity: I care no more for, is, I care as much for. I wish it equally. FARMER.
strive -] To strive is to contend. 8 Your salt tears' head.] The source, the fountain of your tears, the cause of your grief. Johnson.
in their kind-] i. e. in their language, according to their nature.