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 fhould be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-tho' honefty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplice 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 she finds; there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than the'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 herfelf her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any ftranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon;

9 Clo. That man, &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 be will 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 honesty, which, though not very nice or puritanical, will do 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 pleased with a state of fubjection.

Here is an allufion, violently enough forced in, to fatirife the obftinacy with which the Puritans refufed the use of the ecclefiaftical habits, which was, at that time, one principal cause of the breach of union, and, perhaps, to infinuate, that the modest purity of the furplice was fometimes a cover for pride.

Fortune,

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 refcue in the firft affault, or ranfom afterward. This fhe 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 discharg'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, she faid, was no Goddess, &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.

Fortune was no Goddess, the faid, for one Reafon; Love, no God, for another ;-what could fhe then more naturally fubjoin, than as I have amended in the Text?

Diana, no Queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furprized without Refcue,

&c.

For in Poetical History Diana was as well known to prefide over Chastity, as Cupid over Love, or Fortune over the Change or Regulation of our Circumftances.

THEOBALD.

SCENE

1

Enter Helena.

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 ftrong paffion is impreft in youth;
By our remembrances of days foregone,

2

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. Helen, you know, I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable miftrefs.

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 those,
That were enwombed mine; 'tis often feen,
Adoption ftrives 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?

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

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

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

WARBURTON.

Hel.

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I fay, I am you 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 master, 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?

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?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-

God fhield, you mean it not, daughter and mother
So ftrive upon your pulfe! what pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness.

6

Now I fee 'The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find

7 Your falt tears' head; now to all fenfe 'tis grofs,
You love my fon; invention is afham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,

To fay, 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 speak it only fin
And hellifh 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