Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.
 Enter COUNTESS, STEWARD, and CLOWN.

Countess	I will now hear: - what say you of this gentlewoman?

Steward	Madam, the care I have had to even your content I wish 
	might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for 
	then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of 
	our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Countess	What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The 
	complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 'tis 
	my slowness that I do not, for I know you lack not folly to 
	commit them and have ability enough to make such knaveries 
	yours.

Clown	'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Countess	Well, sir.

Clown	No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of 
	the rich are damned; but, if I may have your ladyship's 
	good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do 
	as we may.

Countess	Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown	I do beg your good will in this case.

Countess	In what case?

Clown	In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage, and I 
	think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have 
	issue o'my body, for they say barnes are blessings.

Countess	Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown	My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the 
	flesh, and he must needs go that the devil drives.

Countess	Is this all your worship's reason?

Clown	Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Countess	May the world know them?

Clown	I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh 
	and blood are, and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent.

Countess	Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown	I am out o' friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for 
	my wife's sake.

Countess	Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown	You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves 
	come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears 
	my land spares 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 cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that 
	cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he 
	that loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that 
	kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to 
	be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young 
	Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er 
	their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both 
	one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i'th' herd.

Countess	Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clown	A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:

	[Sings.]	For I the ballad will repeat
				Which men full true shall find:
			Your marriage comes by destiny,
				Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Countess	Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

Steward	May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of 
	her I am to speak.

Countess	Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her - Helen 
	I mean.

Clown	[Sings.]	Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
				Why the Grecians sackd Troy?
			Fond done, done fond,
				Was this King Priam's joy?
			With that she sighd as she stood,
			With that she sighd as she stood,
				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.

Countess	What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clown	One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o'th' 
	song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd 
	find no fault with the tithe-woman if I were the parson. 
	One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born 
	but or every blazing star or at an earthquake, 'twould mend 
	the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out ere a' pluck 
	one.

Countess	You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you?

Clown	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.
Countess	Well, now.

Steward	I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Countess	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.

Steward	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; Dian no queen of virgins, that would I suffer 
	her poor knight surprised without rescue in the first 
	assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most 
	bitter touch of sorrow that ere 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.

Countess	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.

Countess	Even so it was with me when I was young.
		If ever 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.
	It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
	Where love's strong passion is impressed in youth.
	By our remembrances of days foregone,
	Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
	Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.

Helena	What is your pleasure, madam?

Countess								You know, Helen,
	I am a mother to you.

Helena	Mine honourable mistress.

Countess							Nay, a mother.
	Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother',
	Methought 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 enwombd mine. 'Tis often seen
	Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
	A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
	You ne'er oppressed me with a mother's groan,
	Yet I express to you a mother's care.
	God's mercy, maiden! Does it curd thy blood
	To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
	That this distempered messenger of wet,
	The many-coloured Iris, rounds thine eye?
	Why, that you are my daughter?

Helena									That I am not.

Countess	I say I am your mother.

Helena								Pardon, madam;
	The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
	I am from humble, he from honoured name;
	No note upon my parents, his all noble.
	My master, my dear lord he is, and I
	His servant live, and will his vassal die.
	He must not be my brother.

Countess								Nor I your mother?

Helena	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?

Countess	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 catched 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 ashamed
	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 th' one to th' other, and thine eyes
	See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours
	That in their kind they speak it: only sin
	And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
	That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
	If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
	If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
	As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
	To tell me truly.

Helena					Good madam, pardon me.

Countess	Do you love my son?

Helena						Your pardon, noble mistress.

Countess	Love you my son?

Helena					Do not you love him, madam?

Countess	Go not about; my love hath in't a bond
	Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose
	The state of your affection, for your passions
	Have to the full appeached.

Helena								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 loved 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 inteemable sieve
	I still pour in the waters of my love,
	And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like,
	Religious in mine error, I adore
	The sun that looks upon his worshipper,
	But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
	Let not your hate encounter with my love,
	For loving where you do; but, if yourself,
	Whose agd honour cites a virtuous youth,
	Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
	Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
	Was both herself and love, O then give pity
	To her whose state is such that cannot choose
	But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
	That seeks not to find that her search implies,
	But riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies!

Countess	Had you not lately an intent - speak truly-
	To go to Paris?

Helena					Madam, I had.

Countess								Wherefore? Tell true.

Helena	I will tell truth, by grace itself I swear.
	You know my father left me some prescriptions
	Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
	And manifest experience had collected
	For general sovereignty; and that he willed me
	In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
	As notes whose faculties inclusive were
	More than they were in note. Amongst the rest
	There is a remedy, approved, set down,
	To cure the desperate languishings whereof
	The king is rendered lost.

Countess								This was your motive
	For Paris, was it? Speak.

Helena	My lord your son made me to think of this;
	Else Paris and the medicine and the king
	Had from the conversation of my thoughts
	Haply been absent then.

Countess							But think you, Helen,
	If you should tender your supposd aid,
	He would receive it? He and his physicians
	Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
	They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit
	A poor unlearnd virgin, when the schools,
	Embowelled of their doctrine, have left off
	The danger to itself?

Helena							There's something in't
	More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
	Of his profession, that his good receipt
	Shall for my legacy be sanctified
	By the luckiest stars in heaven, and, would your honour
	But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
	The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
	By such a day, an hour.

Countess								Dost thou believe't?

Helena	Ay, madam, knowingly.

Countess	Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
	Means and attendants, and my loving greetings
	To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home
	And pray God's blessing into thy attempt.
	Be gone tomorrow; and be sure of this,
	What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
												[Exeunt.
