Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 60 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 marriage comes by destiny,
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,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

Fond done, done fond,

Was this King Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would

63. next, nearest.

64. This ballad' seems to be a reminiscence of some verses quoted by Steevens from John Grange's Garden (1577)—

Content yourself as well as I,
Let reason rule your mind:
As cuckolds come by destiny
So cuckoos sing by kind.

70

80

74. The clown's verse is probably adapted from a lost ballad entered in Sta. Reg. 1585, The Lamentation of Hecuba and the Ladyes of Troy.

76. Fond, foolishly.

83. There's yet one good in ten; the genuine version ran, 'There's yet nine good in ten.'

serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good 90 woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' 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 100 Helen to come hither.

Count. Well, now.

[Exit.

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 110 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; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her

99. big heart, haughty spirit. 119. Dian no queen. Ff have queen, etc. The first two words, felicitously supplied by Theo

bald, are supported especially by the hymn to Diana in Much Ado, v. 3. 13, where Hero is similarly called her 'virgin knight.'

poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom 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, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

120

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. 130 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.

[Exit Steward.

Even so it was with me when I was young:
If ever 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,

Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,

Such were our faults, or then we thought them

Her

none.

eye is sick on 't: I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? Count.

I am a mother to you.

You know, Helen,

140

141. or then we thought them none. The Countess qualifies her word faults,' as expressing not her early 'remembrances,' but her mature judgment upon them;'faults, or rather we did not then take them for such.' 142. on 't, with this disease.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count.
Nay, a mother:
Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? that you are my daughter?

Hel.

That I am not.

150

Pardon, madam; 160

Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother :
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble :
My master, my dear lord he is; and I

His servant live, and will his vassal die :
He must not be

Count.

my

brother.

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.
But, I your daughter, he

163. note, mark of distinction. 169. both our mothers, mother to us both.

Can 't no other,
must be my brother?

170

170. I care no more for, it would be as little a grief to me as the prospect of heaven.

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law:

God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
You love my son; invention is ashamed,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours
That in their kind they speak it only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected.

Speak, is 't so?

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;

If it be not, forswear 't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,

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 passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Then, I confess,

Hel.
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,

174. daughter and mother so strive upon your pulse, daughterly love and dread of accepting the name of daughter contend in her blood.

180

190

177. loneliness, Theobald's correction for Ff loveliness.'

197. appeach'd,

against you.

informed