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Count. Is this all your Worfhip's Reafon?

Clo. Faith, Madam, I have other holy Reasons, fuch as they are.

Count. May the World know them?

Clo. I have been, Madam, a wicked Creature, as you and all Flesh and Blood are, and indeed I do marry that I may

repent.

Count. Thy Marriage fooner than thy Wickedness.

Clo. I am out of Friends, Madam, and I hope to have Friends for my Wife's Sake.

Count. Such Friends are thine Enemies, Knave.

Clo. Y'are fhallow, Madam, in great Friends, for the Knaves come to do that for me which I am weary of; he that ears my Land, fpares my Team, and gives me leave to in the Crop; if I be his Cuckold, he's my Drudge; he that comforts my Wife, is the Cherifher of my Flesh and Blood; he that cherisheth 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 content to be what they are, there were no fear in Marriage, for young Charbon the Puritan, and old Poyfam the Papift, howfome'er their Hearts are fever'd in Religion, their Heads are both one, they may joul Horns together like any

Deer i'th' Herd.

Count. Thou wilt 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 Deftiny, your Cuckow fings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, Madam, that he bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my Gentlewoman I would fpeak with her, Hellen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair Face the Caufe, quoth fhe, Why the Grecians facked Troy?

Fond done, done fond, was this King Priam's Joy?

With that the fighed as the ftood, bis,

And gave this Sentence then; among nine bad if one be good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one good in ten.

Count.

Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the Song, Sirrah.

Clo. One good Woman in ten, Madam, which is the purifying a th' Song: Would God would ferve the World fo all the Year, we'd find no Fault with the Tithe Woman if I were the Parfon; one in ten, quoth a'! and we might have a good Woman born but o'er every blazing Star, or at an Earthquake, 'twould mend the Lottery well; a Man may pray his Heart out e'er a pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, Sir Knave, and do as I command you?

Clo. That Man that fhould be at a Woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' Honefty be no Puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the Surplis of Humility over the black Gown of a big Heart: I am going, Forfooth, the Bufinefs is for Hellen to come hither. [Exit.

Count. Well, now.

Stew. I know, Madam, you love your Gentlewoman intirely.

Count. Faith I do; her Father bequeath'd her to me, and fhe her felf, without other Advantages, may lawfully make Title to as much Love as fhe finds; there is more owing her than is paid, and more fhall be paid her than she'll demand.

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Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think fhe wifh'd me; alone fhe was, and did communicate to her felf, her own Words to her own Ears; the thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any Stranger Senfe. Her Matter was, the lov'd your Son; Fortune, the faid, was no Goddess, that had put fuch Difference betwixt their two Estates Love no God, that would not extend his Might, only where Qualities were level: Complain'd against the Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpris'd without Rescue in the firft Affault or Ranfom afterward. This fhe deliver'd in the most bitter Touch of Sorrow that e'er I heard Virgin exclaim in, which I held it my Duty fpeedily to acquaint you withal; fithence in the Lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it.

Count. You have difcharg'd this Honefty, keep it to your felf; many Likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the Ballance, that I could never believe VOL. II.

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nor

nor mifdoubt: Pray you leave me, ftall this in your Bofom, and I thank you for your honest Care; I will speak with further anon.

Enter Helena.

you [Exit Steward.

Count. Even fo it was with me when I was young;
If ever we are Nature's, thefe 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 Seal of Nature's Truth,
Where Love's ftrong Paffion is impreft in Youth;
By our Remembrances of Days forgone,
Such were our Faults, or then we thought them none;
Her Eye is fick on't, I obferve her now.

Hel. What is, your Pleasure, Madam?

Count. You know, Hellen, I am a Mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable Miftrefs.

Count. Nay, a Mother, why not a Mother? when I faid

Mother,

Methought you faw a Serpent; what's in Mother,
That you ftart at it? I fay, I am your Mother,
And put you in the Catalogue of thofe
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often seen
Adoption ftrives with Nature, and Choice breeds
A native Slip to us from foreign Seeds.

You ne'er oppreft me with a Mother's Groan,
Yet I express 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 Eye?
Why that you are my Daughter?
Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay I am your Mother.
Hel. Pardon, Madam.

The Count Roffillion cannot be my Brother;
I am from humble, he from honoured Name;
No Note upon my Parents, his all Noble.
My Mafter, my dear Lord he is, and I
His Servant live, and will his Vaffal die :
He must not be my Brother.

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 Sifter; can't no other,

But I your Daughter, he must be my Brother.

Count. Yes, Hellen, you might be my Daughter-in-law, God fhield you mean it not, Daughter and Mother, So ftrive upon your Pulfe: what pale agen? My Fear hath catch'd your Fondnefs! Now I fee The Mift'ry of your Lovelinefs, and find Your falt Tears Head; now to all, Senfe 'tis grofs, You love my Son; Invention is afham'd Against the Proclamation of thy Paffion, To fay thou doft not; therefore tell me true, But tell me then 'tis fo. For look, thy Checks Confefs it one to th'other, and thine Eyes See it fo grofly shown in thy Behaviour, That in their Kind they fpeak it: only Sin And hellish Obftinacy tie thy Tongue, That Truth fhould be fufpected; fpeak, is't fo? If it be fo, you have 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 Son?

Hel. Your Pardon, noble Mistress.

Count. Love you my Son?

Hel. Do not you love him, Madam?

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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

Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then I confess

your Paffions

Here on my Knee, before high Heavens and you,

That before you, and next unto high Heav'n, I love your Son; 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 Suit,

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Nor would I have him, 'till I do deferve him,
Yet never know how that Defert fhould be:
I know I love in vain, ftrive against Hope;
Yet in this captious and intenible Sive,
I still pour in the Water of my Love,
And lack not to lofe ftill; thus Indian like,
Religious in mine Error, I adore

The Sun that looks upon the Worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam,
Let not your Hate incounter with my Love,
For loving where you do; but if your
your felf,
Whofe aged Honour cites a virtuous Youth,
Did ever in fo true a Flame of Loving,
With chaftly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both her felf and Love; O then give pity
To her whofe State is fuch, that cannot chufe
But lend and give where the is fure to lofe;
That feeks not to find that, which Search implies,
But Riddle like, lives fweetly where the 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 true, by Grace it felf I fwear;
You know my Father left me fome Prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd Effects, fuch as his Reading.
And manifeft Experience had collected

For general Soveraignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'ft Refervation to beftow them,
As Notes, whofe Faculties inclufive were,
More than they were in note: Amongst the reft,
There is a Remedy, approv'd, fet down,
To cure the defperate Languifhings whereof
The King is render'd loft.

Count. This was your Motive for Paris, was it, fpeak?
Hel. My Lord, your Son made me to think of this;
Elle Paris, and the Medicine, and the King,
Had from the Converfation of my Thoughts,

Happily been absent then.

If

Count. But think you, Hellen,

you fhould tender your fuppofed Aid,

He

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