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 the deliver'd in the moft 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 fomething 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 honest care; I will speak with you further anon. Fortune, he faid, was no Goddefs, &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 poor 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, these are ours: this thorn Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood, is born; 3 Such were our faults, O! then we thought them none. Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, Madam? Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? when I faid a mother, God's mercy! maiden, do's it curd thy blood, 2 By our remembrances.] That Of then we thought them none. is, according to our recollection. A motive for pity and pardon; So we fay, he is old by my reck- agreeable to fact, and in the inoning. dulgent character of the fpeaker. This was fent to the Oxford Editor, and he altered O, to tho'. 3 Such were our faults, OR then we thought them none. We fhould read, WARBURTON. Hel, 1 Hel. That I am not. Count. I fay, I am you mother. Hel. Pardon, Madam. The count Roufillon cannot be my brother; Count. Nor I your mother? 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: can't no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother? law; or were you both our I CARE no more FOR, than I So I were not his fifter:] The fecond line has not the leaft 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 mistress's fon; and taking hold of her miftrefs's words, where fhe bids her call her mother, the unfolds the mystery: and as the is difcovering it, emboldens herfelf by this reflexion, in the line in queflion, as it ought to be read in a parenthefis. (ICAN no mere FEAR, than I do FEAR heav'n,) i.e. I can no more fear to truft fo indulgent a miftrefs with the fecret, than I can fearheav'n who has my vows for its happy iffue. God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother - 7 Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs, To say, thou doft not; therefore tell me true; That truth fhould be fufpected; speak, is't fo? Hel. Good Madam, pardon me. 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, difclofe The state of your affection; for your passions Hel. Then, I confefs, Here on my knee, before high heav'ns and you, My friends were poor, but honeft; fo's my love That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not Nor would I have him, 'till I do deferve him; The fun that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam, Hel. Madam, I had. Count. Wherefore? tell true. Captious and intenible fieve.] The word captious I never found in this fenfe; yet I cannot tell what to fubftitate, unless carious for rotten, which yet is a word more likely to have been mistaken by the copyers than used by the authour. Hel. |