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With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o'the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no' fault with the tythe-woman, 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 earthquake, '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?
Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.
[Exit Clown. Count. Well, now.
the Countess has just called for, brings an old ballad on the sacking of Troy to the Clown's mind. Fond done is foolishly done. I t would mend the lottery well;] This surely is a strange kind of phraseology. I have never met with any example of it in any of the contemporary writers; and if there were any proof that in the lotteries of Queen Elizabeth's time wheels were employed, I should be inclined to read-lottery wheel. MALONE.
Clo. That man, &c.] Here is an allusion, violently enough forced in, to satirize the obstinacy with which the puritans refused the use of the ecclesiastical habits, which was, at that time, one principal cause of the breach of the union, and, perhaps, to insinuate, that the modest purity of the surplice was sometimes a cover for pride.
shosiew. Mike, she herselt,
Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle. woman entirely.
Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed 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 wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved 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; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward: This she delivered 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 discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
[Exit Steward. Enter HELENA. Count. Even so it was with ine, when I was young:
If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
at I could
stall this in. I will speak
sithence,] i. e. since.
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Nay, a mother;
That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. Hel.
Pardon, madam; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
4 By our remembrances-] That is, according to our recollection. So we say, he is old by my reckoning. JOHNSON.
What's the matter,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ?] There is something exquisitely beautiful in this representation of that suffusion of colours which glimmers round the sight when the eye-lashes are wet with tears. HENLEY.
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
Nor I your mother? 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 heaven, So I were not his sister: Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter
in-law; God 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; invention is asham'd, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so:—for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kindo they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
8 I care no more for,] There is a designed ambiguity: I care no more for, is, I care as much for. I wish it equally. FARMER. I s trire am] To strive is to contend.
8 Your salt trars' head.] The source, the fountain of your tears, the cause of your grief. JOHNSON. •9 --- in their kind-] i, e. in their language, according to their nature.
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; ' ..
Good madam, pardon me!
Your pardon, noble mistress!
Do not you love him, madam?
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. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,' I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still:’ thus, Indian-like, •
i- captious and intenible sieve,] Dr. Farmet supposes captious to be a contraction of capacious.
Mr. Malone thinks it means recipient, capable of receiving what is put into it; and by intenible, incapable of holding or retaining it. .
And lack not to lose still :] Helena means to say, that, like a person who pours water into a vessel full of holes, and still continues his employment, though he finds the water all lost, and the vessel empty, so, though she finds that the waters of her love are still lost, that her affection is thrown away on an object whom she thinks she never can deserve, she yet is not discouraged, but pera severes in her hopeless endeavour to accomplish her wishes.