Enter Helena. Count. Ev'n 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 show and feal of nature's truth, Where love's strong paffion is impreft in youth; Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam? Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? when I faid a mother, God's mercy! maiden, do's it curd thy blood, Hel. That I am not. Count. I fay, I am your mother. The Count Roufillon cannot be my brother I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble. Count. Nor I your mother? Hel. 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 heav'n, So I were not his fifter: can't no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother? God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I fee (9) Your falt tears head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs, The mys'try of your loveliness, and find and find The Mystery of her Loveliness is beyond my Comprehenfion: The old Counters is faying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in Reproach, that this Word fhould find a place here; which it could not, unless farcaftically employ'd, and with fome Spleen. I dare warrant, the Poet meant, his old Lady should say no more than This: " I now find the Mystery of your creeping into Corners, and weeping, and pining in "fecret". For this Reafon I have amended the Text, Loneliness. The Steward, in the foregoing Scene, where he gives the Countess Intelligence of Helen's Behaviour fays; Alone She was, and did communicate to herself her own Words to her own Ears. The Author has used the Word Loneliness, to fignify a Perfon's being alone, again in his Hamlet. We will beftow our felves: read on this book ; That fhew of fuch an Exercise may colour As heav'n fhall work in me for thine avail, 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, comé, 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 heav'ns and you, My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my love; That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not By any token of prefumptuous fuit; Nor would I have him, 'till I do deferve him The Sun that looks upon his Worthipper, With chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, To go to Paris? Hel. Hel. Madam, I had. Count. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth; by Grace it felf, I fwear; For general fov'reignty; and that he will'd me To cure the defperate languishings, whereof Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it, fpeak? Hel. My lord your fon made me to think of this; Elfe 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 fuppofed aid, He would receive it? he and his phyficians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him: They, that they cannot help. How fhall they credit Hel. There's.fomething in't More than my father's skill, (which was the great't Shall for my legacy be fanctified By th' luckieft ftars in heav'n; and, would your Honour But give me leave to try fuccefs, I'd venture The well-loft life of mine on his Grace's Cure, By fuch a day and hour. Count. Doft thou believe't? Hel. Ay, Madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love; Means and attendants; and my loving greetings And And pray God's Bleffing into thy attempt: [Exeunt. SCENE, the Court of France. Enter the King, with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war. Bertram and Parolles. F Flourish Cornets. KING. Arewel, young Lords: these warlike principles Share the advice betwixt you. If Both gain, I Lord. 'Tis our hope, Sir, After well-enter'd foldiers, to return King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart That doth my life befiege; farewel, young Lords; Of worthy French men; (10) let higher Italy Of the last Monarchy ;) fee, that you come (Thofe bated, that inherit but the Fall Not Of the laft Monarchy ;) fee, &c.] This feems to me One of the very obfcure Paffages of Shakespeare, and which therefore may very well demand Explanation. Italy, at the time of this Scene, was under three very different Tenures. The Emperour, as Succeffor of the Roman Em perours |