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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 marriage comes by destiny,

Your cuckoo fings by kind.

Count. Get you gone,

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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,
Why the Grecians facked Troy?

• For it undone, undone, quoth be,
Was this king Priam's joy.
With that fhe fighed as she stood,
With that fhe fighed as she stood,

And gave this a fentence then
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten..

;

[Singing.

Fond done, fond done (for Paris, be.)

Count.

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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,
this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest care:
I will speak with you further anon.

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

Count. Even fo it was with me, when I was young:

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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:

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* 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,
Methought you faw a ferpent: What's in mother,
That you start at it? I fay, 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 flip to us from foreign feeds:

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You ne'er opprefs'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 fay, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this diftemper'd meffenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
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 brother:

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'd care no more for't, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his fifter: "Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

↳ 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,
You love my fon; invention is afham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy paffion,

To say, thou doft not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis fo:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confefs it one to the other; and thine eyes
See it fo grofly fhewn in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only fin
And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth' fhould be fufpected: Speak, is't fo?
If it be fo, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forfwear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven 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.

Hel. Then, I confefs,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your fon :—

:

e loveliness; lowlinefs-this depreffion of your spirits.
f fbould be fufpected :]-should not appear.

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