heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of heaven, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

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.

Clown. [Sings.] "Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, "Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

"Fond done, done fond; for Paris he,
"Was this king Priam's joy.
"With that she sighed as she stood,
"And gave this sentence then;
"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.

Clown. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would heaven would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithewoman, 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 earthqnake, '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.

Clown. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-I am going, forsooth. The business is, for Helen to come hither.-[Sings.] Among nine bad, if one be good, &c. [Exit Clown, L.

Count. Well, now?

Stew. I know madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Count. 'Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd 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 wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears. Her matter was, she lov'd 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. This she deliver❜d 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.

Count. You have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself. Many likelihoods inform'd me of this before. -She is coming. 'Pray you, leave me. I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward, R. Her eye is sick on't; Lobserve her now: E'en so it was with me, when I was young. Enter HELENA, L.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
Count. You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother:

Heaven's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter?
Weep you, that you're my daughter?

Hel. That I'm not.

Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel. Pardon, madam;

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 my brother.

Count. Nor I your mother?

Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law;

Heaven 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.

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

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

To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me.

Count. Do you love my son ?

Hel. Do not you love him, madam ?

Count. Go not about: Come, come, disclose

B

The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then, I confess,

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

I love your son.

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,

That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;

Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
Count. How, Helena!

Hel. My dearest madam,

[Rises.

Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, pity show
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris ?

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading
And manifest experience had collected
For general sovereignty. Amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishes whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Count. This was your motive

For Paris, was it? speak.

Hel. My lord, your son made me to think of this;

Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,

Had from the conversation of my thoughts,

Haply, been absent then.

Count. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your supposed aid,

He would receive it? He and his physicians

Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him ;

They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowel'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?

Hel. There's something hints,

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt

Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified

By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture

The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,

By such a day, and hour.

Count. Dost thou believe't?

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants, and my loving greetings

To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home, [Crosses L.
And pray heaven's blessing into thy attempt:
Begone, my child; and be thou sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

[Exit Countess, 1.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to chance. Who ever strove
To show her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease-my project may deceive me;

But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit, R.

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-France.-An Antechamber in the King's

Palace.

Enter LEFEU, and BERTRAM, R.

Lef. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not this vender of big words, this captain Paroles, a soldier. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Lef. You have it from his own deliverance?— Ber. And by other warranted testimony.

Lef. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant..

Lef. I have then sinn'd against his experience, and transgress'd against his valour: and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. [Flourish of Trumpets, L. The court assembles, sir: the king expects you.

[Exeunt Lefeu, and Bertram, L.

SCENE II.-A Room of State in the Palace.-Flourish of Trumpets, L.

The King of FRANCE with Letters, DUMAIN, Lewis, BIRON, JAQUES, TOURVILLE, and Gentlemen, discovered. Enter LEFEU, Bertram, and Paroles, l.

Lef. [Leads Bertram to the King's L.] The son of count Rousillon, my good lord,

Young Bertram. [Crosses behind the Chair to King's R.
King. (c.)Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face:
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

Hath well compos'd thee: Thy father's moral parts
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. Our letters here, my lords, deliver us,
The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

Lef. (R.) So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid.

Lef. His love and wisdom,

Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.

King. He hath arm'd our answer,

And Florence is denied before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part; except alone

The count Rousillon, whom we keep with us;
Lest battle rob his mother of a son,

And our sick hours of comfort in his absence.

Dum. 'Tis our hope, sir,

After well-enter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.