tery 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!-tho' honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplus of humility over the black gown of a big heart-I am going, forfooth. The bufinefs is for Helen 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 herself, without other advantages, may lawfully make title to as much love as he finds; there is more owing her, than is paid; and more fhall be paid her, than fhe'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, fhe wifh'd me; alone fhe was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon;

9 Clo. That ma", &c.] The clown's answer is obfcure. His lady bids him do as he is commanded. He answers with the licentious petulance of his character, that if a man does as a woman commands, it is likely he vill do amifs; that he does not amifs, being at the command of a woman, he makes the effect, not of his Lady's goodness, but of his own honey, which, though not very nice or puritanical, will ao no burt; and will not only do no hurt, but, unlike the Puritans, will comply with the in

junctions of fuperiours, and wear the furplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart; will obey commands, though not much pleafed with a state of fubjection.

Here is an allufion, violently enough forced in, to fatirife the obftinacy with which the Pur.tans refused the ufe of the ecclefiaftical habits, which was, at that time, one principal caufe of the breach of union, and, perhaps, to infinuate, that the modeft purity of the furplice was fometimes a cover for p:ide.

1

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 fhe deliver'd in the most 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 something

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 honeft care; I will fpeak with you further anon.

1

Fortune, fe fail, was no Gedefs, &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 foor 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, 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 fhow and feal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong paffion is impreft in youth;
By our remembrances of days foregone,

Such were our faults, O! then we thought them nonë, Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now.

Hel. What is your pleafure, 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 thofe,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often feen,
Adoption strives 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 distemper'd meffenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eyes?
Why,- -that you are my daughter?

By our remembrances] That is, according to our recollection. So we fay, he is old by my reckoning.

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

-O! then we thought them none. A motive for pity and pardon; agreeable to fact, and the indulgent character of the speaker. This was fent to the Oxford Editor, and he altered O, to the'.

WARBURTON.
Hel.

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am your 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?

THECA

BOD

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: 5 can't no other,

But I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-

4

law; T

or we e you both our mo

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

So I were not his fifter:] The fecond line has not the leat 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 miftrefs's fon; and taking hold of her miref's words, where fhe bids her call her mother, fhe unfolds the myflery: and, as fhe is difcovering it. emboldens herfelf by this reflexion, in the line in queftion, as it ought to be read in a parenthesis,

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

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulfe! what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondnefs.- Now I fee
The myft'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 fpeak it

only fin And hellish obftinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth fhould be fufpected; fpeak, 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, disclose