Shakespeare's First Folio Part 203

bis

And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one good in ten

Cou. What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the song sirra

Clo. One good woman in ten Madam, which is a purifying ath' song: would G.o.d would serue the world so all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the t.i.the woman if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee might haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, a man may draw his heart out ere a plucke one

Cou. Youle begone sir knaue, and doe as I command you?

Clo. That man should be at womans command, and yet no hurt done, though honestie be no Puritan, yet it will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie ouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am going forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither.

Enter.

Cou. Well now

Stew. I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman intirely

Cou. Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee, and she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawfullie make t.i.tle to as much loue as shee findes, there is more owing her then is paid, and more shall be paid her then sheele demand

Stew. Madam, I was verie late more neere her then I thinke shee wisht mee, alone shee was, and did communicate to her selfe her owne words to her owne eares, shee thought, I dare vowe for her, they toucht not anie stranger sence, her matter was, shee loued your Sonne; Fortune shee said was no G.o.ddesse, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates: Loue no G.o.d, that would not extend his might onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Virgins, that would suffer her poore Knight surpris'd without rescue in the first a.s.sault or ransome afterward: This shee deliuer'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I held my dutie speedily to acquaint you withall, sithence in the losse that may happen, it concernes you something to know it

Cou. You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe it to your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of this before, which hung so tottring in the ballance, that I could neither beleeue nor mis...o...b..: praie you leaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thanke you for your honest care: I will speake with you further anon.

Exit Steward.

Enter h.e.l.len.

Old.Cou. Euen so it was with me when I was yong: If euer we are natures, these are ours, this thorne Doth to our Rose of youth rightlie belong Our bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne, It is the show, and seale of natures truth, Where loues strong pa.s.sion is imprest in youth, By our remembrances of daies forgon, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none, Her eie is sicke on't, I obserue her now

h.e.l.l. What is your pleasure Madam?

Ol.Cou. You know h.e.l.len I am a mother to you

h.e.l.l. Mine honorable Mistris

Ol.Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I sed a mother Me thought you saw a serpent, what's in mother, That you start at it? I say I am your mother, And put you in the Catalogue of those That were enwombed mine, 'tis often seene Adoption striues with nature, and choise breedes A natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes: You nere opprest me with a mothers groane, Yet I expresse to you a mothers care, (G.o.ds mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? what's the matter, That this distempered messenger of wet?

The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye? - Why, that you are my daughter?

h.e.l.l. That I am not

Old.Cou. I say I am your Mother

h.e.l.l. Pardon Madam.

The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honored name: No note vpon my Parents, his all n.o.ble, My Master, my deere Lord he is, and I His seruant liue, and will his va.s.sall die: He must not be my brother

Ol.Cou. Nor I your Mother

h.e.l.l. You are my mother Madam, would you were So that my Lord your sonne were not my brother, Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers, I care no more for, then I doe for heauen, So I were not his sister, cant no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother

Old.Cou. Yes h.e.l.len, you might be my daughter in law, G.o.d shield you meane it not, daughter and mother So striue vpon your pulse; what pale agen?

My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I see The mistrie of your louelinesse, and finde Your salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse: You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'd Against the proclamation of thy pa.s.sion To say thou doost not: therefore tell me true, But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekes Confesse it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eies See it so grosely showne in thy behauiours, That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinne And h.e.l.lish obstinacie tye thy tongue That truth should be suspected, speake, ist so?

If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe: If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee, As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaile To tell me truelie

h.e.l.l. Good Madam pardon me

Cou. Do you loue my Sonne?

h.e.l.l. Your pardon n.o.ble Mistris

Cou. Loue you my Sonne?

h.e.l.l. Doe not you loue him Madam?

Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose: The state of your affection, for your pa.s.sions Haue to the full appeach'd

h.e.l.l. Then I confesse Here on my knee, before high heauen and you, That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your Sonne: My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue: Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suite, Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him, Yet neuer know how that desert should be: I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope: Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue.

I still poure in the waters of my loue And lacke not to loose still; thus Indian like Religious in mine error, I adore The Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper, But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam, Let not your hate incounter with my loue, For louing where you doe; but if your selfe, Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth, Did euer, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittie To her whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and giue where she is sure to loose; That seekes not to finde that, her search implies, But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies

Cou. Had you not lately an intent, speake truely, To goe to Paris?

h.e.l.l. Madam I had

Cou. Wherefore? tell true

h.e.l.l. I will tell truth, by grace it selfe I sweare: You know my Father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prou'd effects, such as his reading And manifest experience, had collected For generall soueraigntie: and that he wil'd me In heedefull'st reseruation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusiue were, More then they were in note: Amongst the rest, There is a remedie, approu'd, set downe, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The King is render'd lost

Cou. This was your motiue for Paris, was it, speake?

h.e.l.l. My Lord, your sonne, made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the conuersation of my thoughts, Happily beene absent then

Cou. But thinke you h.e.l.len, If you should tender your supposed aide, He would receiue it? He and his Phisitions Are of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him: They, that they cannot helpe, how shall they credit A poore vnlearned Virgin, when the Schooles Embowel'd of their doctrine, haue left off The danger to it selfe

h.e.l.l. There's something in't More then my Fathers skill, which was the great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt, Shall for my legacie be sanctified Byth' luckiest stars in heauen, and would your honor But giue me leaue to trie successe, I'de venture The well lost life of mine, on his Graces cure, By such a day, an houre

Cou. Doo'st thou beleeue't?

h.e.l.l. I Madam knowingly

Cou. Why h.e.l.len thou shalt haue my leaue and loue, Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetings To those of mine in Court, Ile staie at home And praie G.o.ds blessing into thy attempt: Begon to morrow, and be sure of this, What I can helpe thee to, thou shalt not misse.

Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.

Enter the King with diuers yong Lords, taking leaue for the Florentine warre: Count, Rosse, and Parrolles. Florish Cornets.

King. Farewell yong Lords, these warlike principles Doe not throw from you, and you my Lords farewell: Share the aduice betwixt you, if both gaine, all The guift doth stretch it selfe as 'tis receiu'd, And is enough for both

Lord.G. 'Tis our hope sir, After well entred souldiers, to returne And finde your grace in health

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confesse he owes the mallady That doth my life besiege: farwell yong Lords, Whether I liue or die, be you the sonnes Of worthy French men: let higher Italy (Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last Monarchy) see that you come Not to wooe honour, but to wed it, when The brauest questant shrinkes: finde what you seeke, That fame may cry you loud: I say farewell

L.G. Health at your bidding serue your Maiesty

King. Those girles of Italy, take heed of them, They say our French, lacke language to deny If they demand: beware of being Captiues Before you serue

Bo. Our hearts receiue your warnings