drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kiffes 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 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' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd 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 fings by kind. Count. Get you gone, 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 caufe, quoth fhe, • For it undone, undone, quoth be, And gave this a fentence then ; [Singing. Fond done, fond done (for Paris, be.) Count. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, firrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the 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 on 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, fir knave, and do as I command you? Clo. That man fhould be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty " be a puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forfooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Count. Well, now. [Exit. 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 advantage, 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 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 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, she lov'd your fon : Fortune, fhe faid, was no goddess, that had W put fuch diffe on every blazing ftar,]-upon the appearance of every comet. be a puritan, yet it will do no hurt ;]-fomewhat nice and fcrupulous, yet it is not obftinately fo, it will conform a little-be no puritan. "touch'd not any firanger fenfe. ]-reach'd not the audience of another. rence rence 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 surprised without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward: This fhe deliver'd in the most bitter touch of forrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, fpeedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it. Count. You have discharg'd this honeftly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the balance, that I could nei leave me: ' stall ther believe, nor mifdoubt: Pray you, Enter Helena. [Exit Steward. Count. Even 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 fhew and feal of nature's truth, Where love's strong paffion is imprest in youth: a * By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, Oh! then we thought them none. Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? Count. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay a mother; knight]-votary, one of her train. yftall]-confine, conceal. a thefe-affections. By our remembrances]-According to our recollection. Why 1 1 Why not a mother? When I faid, a mother, You ne'er opprefs'd me with a mother's groan, 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: 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, ↳ choice breeds a native flip to us from foreign feeds :]—choice rears and cherishes a foreign flip with the fame fondnefs, as though it were native, or fprung from ourselves. I'd care no more for't, than I do]—I'd wish as much for it, as I do. I care no more for. • Can't no other, but,]-Can it be no otherwise, but if I be. Count. Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law; God fhield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I fee The mystery of your Your falt tears' head. loneliness, and find Now to all fenfe 'tis grofs, To say, thou doft not: therefore tell me true; Hel. Good madam, pardon me! 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. Hel. Then, I confefs, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, : e loveliness; lowlinefs-this depreffion of your spirits. My |