Fortune, fhe faid, was no Goddess, that had put fuch difference 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 furpriz'd without rescue in the firft affault, or ranfom afterward. This the deliver'd in the moft bitter touch of forrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in ; which I held it my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething

to know it.

Count. You have difcharg'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 neither believe nor mifdoubt; pray you, leave me; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest care; I will speak with you further anon.

Fortune, he faid, was no Goddefs, &c. Love, no God, &c. complained against the Queen of Virgins, &c.] This paffage ftands thus in the old Copies :

Love, no God, that would not extend his Might only where Qualities were level, Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight, &c.

"Tis evident to every fenfible Reader that fomething must have flipt out here, by which the Meaning of the Context is rendered defective. The Steward is fpeaking in the very words he overheard of the young Lady;

[Exit Steward.

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 fhow and feal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong paffion is impreft in youth;
By our remembrances of days foregone,

3 Such were our faults, O! then we thought them none. Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam?
Count. Helen, you know, I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother;

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'm your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often seen,
Adoption ftrives with nature; and choice breeds
A native flip to us from foreign feeds.
You ne'er oppreft me with a mother's groan,
Yet I exprefs to you a mother's care:

God's mercy! maiden, do's 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 eyes?
Why, that you are my daughter?

2 By our remembrances.] That Of then we thought them none. is, according to our recollection. A motive for pity and pardon; So we fay, he is old by my reck- agreeable to fact, and in the inoning. dulgent character of the fpeaker. This was fent to the Oxford Editor, and he altered O, to tho'.

3 Such were our faults, OR then we thought them none. We fhould read,

WARBURTON.

Hel,

1

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am you 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 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?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-

law;

or were you both our
mothers

I CARE no more FOR, than I
do FOR heav'n,

So I were not his fifter:] The fecond line has not the leaft glimmering of fenfe. Helen, by the indulgence and invitation of her miftrefs, is encouraged to difcover the hidden caufe of her grief; which is the love of her mistress's fon; and taking hold of her miftrefs's words, where fhe bids her call her mother, the unfolds the mystery: and as the is difcovering it, emboldens herfelf by this reflexion, in the line in queflion, as it ought to be read in a parenthefis.

(ICAN no mere FEAR, than I

do FEAR heav'n,) i.e. I can no more fear to truft fo indulgent a miftrefs with the fecret, than I can fearheav'n who has my vows for its happy iffue.

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulse! what pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs. Now I fee
The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find

-

7 Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is asham'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 th' other; and thine eyes
See it fo grofly fhewn in thy behaviour,
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've wound a goodly clew:
If it be not, forfwear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
As heav'n 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, difclofe

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

Hel. Then, I confefs,

Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you,
That before you, and next unto high heav'n,
I love your fon:

My friends were poor, but honeft; fo'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 prefumptuous fuit;

Nor would I have him, 'till I do deferve him;
Yet never know, how that desert shall be.
I know, I love in vain: ftrive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible fieve,
I ftill pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lofe ftill; thus, Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The fun that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
Fo loving where you do; but if yourself,
Whofe aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in fo true a flame of liking
Wish chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and Love; O then, give pity
To her, whofe ftate is fuch, that cannot chufe
But lend, and give, where fhe is fure to lofe;
That feeks not to find that, which fearch implies;
But, riddle-like, lives fweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, fpeak truly,
To go to Paris?

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Captious and intenible fieve.] The word captious I never found in this fenfe; yet I cannot tell what to fubftitate, unless carious

for rotten, which yet is a word more likely to have been mistaken by the copyers than used by the authour.

Hel.