Hel.
Oh were that all—I think not on my Father,
And these great Tears grace his Remembrance more
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him. My Imagination
Carries no Favour in't, but Bertram's.
I am undone, there is no Living, none,
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
That I should love a bright particular Star,
And think to wed it; he is so Above me:
In his bright Radiance and Collateral Light
Must I be comforted, not in his Sphere.
Th' Ambition in my Love thus plagues it self;
The Hind, that would be mated by the Lion,
Must dye for Love. 'Twas pretty, tho' a Plague,
To see him ev'ry Hour to sit and draw
His arched Brows, his hawking Eye, his Curls
In our Heart's Table: Heart too capable
Of every Line and Trick of his sweet Favour.
But now he is gone, and my idolatrous Fancy
Must sanctifie his Relick. Who comes here? Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake,
And yet I know him a notorious Liar,
Think him a great way Fool, solely a Coward;
Yet these fix'd Evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when Virtues steely Bones
Look bleak i'th' cold Wind; withal, full oft we see
Cold Wisdom waiting on superfluous Folly.

Par.

Save you, fair Queen.

Hel.

And you, Monarch.

Par.

No.

Hel.

And no.

Par.

Are you meditating on Virginity?

Hel.

Ay: You have some stain of Soldier in you; let me ask you a Question. Man is Enemy to Virginity, how may we barricado it against him?

Par.

Keep him out.

Hel.

But he assails, and our Virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: Unfold us some warlike Resistance.

Par.

There is none: Man setting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel.

Bless our poor Virginity from Underminers, and Blowers up. Is there no military Policy how Virgins might blow up Men?

Par.

Virginity being blown down, Man will quicklier be blown up: Marry in blowing him down again, with the Breach your selves made, you lose your City. It is not Politick, in the Commonwealth of Nature, to preserve Virginity. Loss of Virginity, is rational Encrease, and there was never Virgin got, 'till Virginity was first lost. That you were made of, is Metal to make Virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: By being ever kept, it is ever lost; 'tis too cold a Companion; away with't.

Hel.

I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a Virgin.

Par.

There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the Rule of Nature. To speak on the part of Virginity, is to accuse your Mother; which is most infallible Disobedience. He that hangs himself is a Virgin: Virginity murthers it self, and should be buried in High-ways out of all sanctified Limit, as a desperate Offendress against Nature. Virginity breeds Mites, much like a Cheese, consumes it self to the very Paring, and so dies with feeding its own Stomach. Besides, Virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhabited Sin in the Canon. Keep it not, you cannot chuse but loose by't. Out with't; within ten Years it will make it self two, which is a goodly increase, and the Principal it self not much the worse. Away with't.

Hel.

How might one do, Sir, to lose it to her own liking?

Par.

Let me see. Marry ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a Commodity will lose the Gloss with lying. The longer kept, the less worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old Courtier, wears her Cap out of Fashion, richly suted, but unsutable, just like the Brooch and the Toothpick, which we wear not now: Your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, than in your Cheek; and your Virginity, your old Virginity, is like one of our French wither'd Pears; it looks ill, it eats drily, marry 'tis a wither'd Pear: It was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd Pear. Will you any thing with it?

Hel.
Not my Virginity yet.
There shall your Master have a thousand Loves,
A Mother, and a Mistress, and a Friend,
A Phœnix, Captain, and an Enemy,
A Guide, a Goddess, and a Sovereign,
A Counseller, a Traitress, and a Dear;
His humblest Ambition, proud Humility,
His jarring Concord, and his discord Dulcet,
His Faith, his sweet Disaster; with a world
Of pretty fond adoptious Christendoms
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
I know not what he shall—God send him well—
The Court's a learning Place—and he is one—

Par.
What one, i'faith?

Hel.
That I wish well—'tis pity—

Par.
What's pity?

Hel.
That wishing well had not a Body in't,
Which might be felt, that we poorer born,
Whose baser Stars do shut them up in Wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our Friends,
And shew what we alone must think, which never
Returns us Thanks. Enter Page.

Page.
Monsieur Parolles,
My Lord calls for you.

Par.

Little Helen farewel, if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at Court.

Hel.

Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable Star.

Par.

Under Mars, I.

Hel.

I especially think under Mars.

Par.

Why under Mars?

Hel.

The Waters have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.

Par.

When he was Predominant.

Hel.

When he was Retrograde, I think rather.

Par.

Why think you so?

Hel.

You go so much backward when you Fight.

Par.

That's for Advantage.

Hel.
So is Running away,
When Fear proposes Safety:

But the Composition that your Valour and Fear makes in you, is a Virtue of a good Wing, and I like the wear well.

Par.

I am so full of Business, I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect Courtier, in the which my Instruction shall serve to Naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of the Courtiers Counsel, and understand what Advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine Unthankfulness, and thine Ignorance makes thee away; farewel. When thou hast leisure, say thy Prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy Friends; get thee a good Husband, and use him as he uses thee: So farewel.

Hel.
Our Remedies oft in our selves do lye,
Which we ascribe to Heav'n: The fated Sky
Gives us free Scope, only doth backward pull
Our slow Designs, when we our selves are dull.
What Power is it, which mounts my Love so high,
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine Eye?
The mightiest Space in Fortune, Nature brings
To join like Likes, and kiss like native Things.
Impossible be strange Attempts to those
That weigh their Pains in Sense, and do suppose
What hath been, cannot be. Who ever strove
To shew her Merit, that did miss her Love?
The King's Disease—My Project may deceive me,
But my Intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit.

Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and divers Attendants.

King.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th' Ears,
Have fought with equal Fortune, and continue
A braving War.

1 Lord.
So 'tis reported, Sir.

King.
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it,
A Certainty vouch'd from our Cousin Austria,
With Caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy Aid; wherein our dearest Friend
Prejudicates the Business, and would seem
To have us make Denial.

1 Lord.
His Love and Wisdom,
Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead
For amplest Credence.

King.
He hath arm'd our Answer,
And Florence is deny'd before he comes:
Yet for our Gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan Service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.

2 Lord.
It may well serve
A Nursery to our Gentry, who are sick
For Breathing and Exploit.

King.
What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu and Parolles.

1 Lord.

It is the Count Rossillion, my good Lord, young Bertram.

King.
Youth, thou bear'st thy Father's Face,
Frank Nature rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Father's moral Parts
Maist thou inherit too. Welcome to Paris.

Ber.
My Thanks and Duty are your Majesty's.

King.
I would I had that corporal Soundness now,
As when thy Father and my self in Friendship,
First try'd our Soldiership: He did look far
Into the Service of the Time, and was
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long,
But on us both did haggish Age steal on,
And wore us out of Act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good Father; in his Youth

He had the Wit, which I can well observe
To Day in our young Lords; but they may jest
'Till their own Scorn return to them unnoted,
E'er they can hide their Levity in Honour:
So like a Courtier, no Contempt nor Bitterness
Were in his Pride, or Sharpness; if they were,
His Equal had awak'd them, and his Honour
Clock to it self, knew the true Minute when
Exception bid him speak; and at that time
His Tongue obey'd his Hand. Who were below him,
He us'd as Creatures of another Place,
And bow'd his eminent Top to their low Ranks,
Making them proud of his Humility,
In their poor Praise he humbled: Such a Man
Might be a Copy to these younger Times;
Which follow'd well, would demonstrate them now,
But Goers backward.

Ber.
His good Remembrance, Sir,
Lyes richer in your Thoughts, than on his Tomb:
So in Approof lives not his Epitaph,
As in your Royal Speech.

King.
Would I were with him; he would always say,
(Methinks I hear him now) his plausive Words
He scatter'd not in Ears, but grafted them
To grow there and to bear; let me not live,
(This his good Melancholly oft began
On the Catastrophe and Heel of Pastime
When it was out) Let me not live, quoth he,
After my Flame lacks Oil, to be the Snuff
Of younger Spirits, whose apprehensive Senses
All but new Things disdain; whose Judgments are
Meer Fathers of their Garments; whose Constancies
Expire before their Fashions: This he wish'd.
I after him, do after him wish too,
Since I, nor Wax, nor Honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my Hive,
To give some Labourers room.

2 Lord.
You're loved, Sir,
They that least lend it you, shall lack your first.

King.
I fill a Place I know't; how long is't, Count,

Since the Physician at your Father's died?
He was much fam'd.

Ber.
Some six Months since, my Lord.

King.
If he were living, I would try him yet.
Lend me an Arm; the rest have worn me out
With several Applications; Nature and Sickness
Debate it at their Leisure. Welcome, Count,
My Son's no dearer.

Ber.
Thanks to your Majesty. [Exeunt. Enter Countess, Steward and Clown.

Count.

I will now hear, what say you of this Gentlewoman?

Stew.

Madam, the Care I have had to even your Content, I wish might be found in the Calender of my past Endeavours, for then we wound our Modesty, and make foul the Clearness of our Deservings, when of our selves we publish them.

Count.

What do's 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.

Clo.

'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a poor Fellow.

Count.

Well, Sir.

Clo.
No, Madam,

'Tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the Rich are damn'd; but if I have your Ladyship's good Will to go to the World, Isbel the Woman and I will do as we may.

Count.

Wilt thou needs be a Beggar?

Clo.

I do beg your good will in this Case.

Count.

What Case?

Clo.

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 a my Body, for they say Barns are Blessings.

Count.

Tell me the Reason why thou wilt marry?

Clo.

My poor Body, Madam, requires it, I am driven on by the Flesh, and he must needs go that the Devil drives.

Count.

Is this all your Worship's Reason?

Clo.

Faith, Madam, I have other holy Reasons, such as they are.

Count.

May the World know them?

Clo.

I have been, Madam, a wicked Creature, as you and all Flesh and Blood are, and indeed I do marry that I may repent.

Count.

Thy Marriage sooner than thy Wickedness.

Clo.

I am out of Friends, Madam, and I hope to have Friends for my Wife's Sake.

Count.

Such Friends are thine Enemies, Knave.

Clo.

Y'are shallow, Madam, in great Friends, for the Knaves come to do that for me which I am weary 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 cherisheth 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 content 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 sever'd in Religion, their Heads are both one, they may joul Horns together like any Deer i'th' Herd.

Count.

Thou wilt ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious Knave.

Clo.

A Prophet, I Madam, and I speak the Truth the next way, for I the Ballad will repeat, which Men full true shall find, your Marriage comes by Destiny, your Cuckow sings by kind.

Count.

Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more anon.

Stew.

May it please you, Madam, that he bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to speak.

Count.

Sirrah, tell my Gentlewoman I would speak with her, Hellen I mean.

Clo.
Was this fair Face the Cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond, was this King Priam's Joy?
With that she sighed as she stood, bis,

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.

Count.

What, one good in ten? You corrupt the Song, Sirrah.

Clo.

One good Woman in ten, Madam, which is the purifying a 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'! and we might have a good Woman born but o'er every blazing Star, or at an Earthquake, 'twould mend the Lottery well; a Man may pray his Heart out e'er a pluck one.

Count.

You'll be gone, Sir Knave, and do as I command you?

Clo.

That Man that should be at a Woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' Honesty be no Puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the Surplis of Humility over the black Gown of a big Heart: I am going, Forsooth, the Business is for Hellen to come hither.

Count.

Well, now.

Stew.

I know, Madam, you love your Gentlewoman intirely.

Count.

Faith I do; her Father bequeath'd her to me, and she her self, 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 she'll demand.

Stew.

Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to her self, her own Words to her own Ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any Stranger Sense. Her Matter was, she lov'd 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: Complain'd against the Queen of Virgins, that would suffer her poor Knight to be surpris'd without Rescue in the first Assault or Ransom afterward. This she deliver'd in the most bitter Touch of Sorrow that e'er I heard Virgin exclaim in, which I held it my Duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence in the Loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count.

You have discharg'd this Honesty, keep it to your self; many Likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tottering in the Ballance, that I could never 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.

Count.
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 imprest in Youth;
By our Remembrances of Days forgone,
Such were our Faults, or then we thought them none;
Her Eye is sick on't, I observe her now.

Hel.
What is, your Pleasure, Madam?

Count.
You know, Hellen, I am a Mother to you.

Hel.
Mine honourable Mistress.

Count.
Nay, a Mother, why not a Mother? when I said 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 enwombed mine; 'tis often seen
Adoption strives with Nature, and Choice breeds
A native Slip to us from foreign Seeds.
You ne'er opprest me with a Mother's Groan,
Yet I express to you a Mother's Care:
God's Mercy, Maiden, do's it curd thy Blood,
To say I am thy Mother? what's the Matter,
That this distemper'd Messenger of Wet,
The many colour'd Iris rounds thine Eye?
Why—that you are my Daughter?

Hel.
That I am not.

Count.
I say I am your Mother.

Hel.
Pardon, Madam.
The Count Rossillion 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.

Count.
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 Heav'n,
So I were not his Sister; can't no other,
But I your Daughter, he must be my Brother.

Count.
Yes, Hellen, you might be my Daughter-in-law,
God shield you mean it not, Daughter and Mother,
So strive upon your Pulse: what pale agen?
My Fear hath catch'd your Fondness! Now I see
The Mist'ry of your Loveliness, 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 th'other, and thine Eyes
See it so grosly shown in thy Behaviour,
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 Heav'n shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel.
Good Madam, pardon me.

Count.
Do you love my Son?

Hel.
Your Pardon, noble Mistress.

Count.
Love you my Son?

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
The State of your Affection, for your Passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel.
Then I confess
Here on my Knee, before high Heavens and you,
That before you, and next unto high Heav'n, 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 Sive,
I still pour in the Water of my Love,
And lack not to lose still; thus Indian like,
Religious in mine Error, I adore
The Sun that looks upon the Worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest Madam,
Let not your Hate incounter with my Love,
For loving where you do; but if your self,
Whose aged Honour cites a virtuous Youth,
Did ever in so true a Flame of Loving,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both her self and Love; O then give pity
To her whose State is such, that cannot chuse
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that, which Search implies,
But Riddle like, lives sweetly where she dies.

Count.
Had you not lately an Intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?

Hel.
Madam, I had.

Count.
Wherefore? Tell true.

Hel.
I will tell true, by Grace it self I swear;
You know my Father left me some Prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd Effects, such as his Reading
And manifest Experience had collected
For general Soveraignty; and that he will'd 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, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate Languishings whereof
The King is render'd lost.

Count.
This was your Motive for Paris, was it, speak?

Hel.
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,
Happily been absent then.

Count.
But think you, Hellen,
If you should tender your supposed Aid,

He would receive it? He and his Physicians
Are of one Mind; he, that they cannot help him:
They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit
A poor unlearned Virgin, when the Schools.
Embowell'd of their Doctrine, have left off
The Danger to it self?

Hel.
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 th' luckiest Stars in Heav'n; and would your Honour
But give me leave, for the success I'd venture
The well lost Life of mine, on his Grace's Cure,
By such a Day and Hour.

Count.
Do'st thou believe't?

Hel.
Ay, Madam, knowingly.

Count.
Why, Hellen, 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 unto thy Attempt:
Be gone to Morrow, and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Enter the King with divers young Lords, taking leave for the Florentine War. Bertram and Parolles. Flourish Cornets.

King.
Farewel, young Lords: These warlike Principles
Do not throw from you; and you, my Lords, farewel;
Share the Advice betwixt you. If both gain, all
The Gift doth stretch it self as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.

1 Lord.
'Tis our Hope, Sir,
After well entered Soldiers, to return
And find your Grace in Health.

King.
No, no, it cannot be; and yet my Heart
Will not confess he owes the Malady

That doth my Life besiege; farewel, young Lords,
Whether I live or die, be you the Sons
Of worthy French Men; let higher Italy,
Those bated that inherit but the Fall
Of the last Monarchy, see that you come
Not to woo Honour, but to wed it, when
The bravest Question shrinks; find what you seek,
That Fame may cry you loud: I say, farewel.

1 Lord.
Health at your bidding serve your Majesty.

King.
Those Girls of Italy, take heed of them;
They say our French lack Language to deny
If they demand: Beware of being Captives,
Before you serve.

Both.
Our Hearts receive your Warnings.

King.
Farewel. Come hither to me.

1 Lord.
Oh, my sweet Lord, that you will stay behind us.

Par.
'Tis not his Fault, the Spark—

2 Lord.
Oh 'tis brave Wars.

Par.
Most admirable; I have seen those Wars.

Ber.
I am commanded here, and kept a Coil with,
Too young, and the next Year, and 'tis too early.

Par.
And thy Mind stand to it, Boy;
Steal away bravely.

Ber.
I stay here the Forehorse to a Smock,
Creeking my Shooes on the plain Masonry,
'Till Honour be bought up, and no Sword worn
But one to dance with: By Heav'n I'll steal away.

1 Lord.
There's Honour in the Theft.

Par.
Commit it, Count.

2 Lord.
I am accessary, and so farewel.

Ber.

I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd Body.

1 Lord.

Farewel, Captain.

2 Lord.

Sweet Monsieur Parolles.

Par.

Noble Heroes, my Sword and yours are kin; good Sparks and lustrous; a Word, good Metals. You shall find in the Regiment of Spinii, one Captain Spurio his Cicatrice, with an Emblem of War here on his sinister Cheek; it was this very Sword entrench'd it; say to him, I live, and observe his Reports of me.

1 Lord.

We shall, noble Captain.

Par.

Mars doat on you for his Novices; what will ye do?

Ber.

Stay; the King.

Par.

Use a more spacious Ceremony to the noble Lords, you have restrain'd your self within the List of too cold an Adieu; be more expressive to them, for they wear themselves in the Cap of the Time, there do muster true Gate, eat, speak, and move under the Influence of the most receiv'd Star, and tho' the Devil lead the Measure, such are to be follow'd: After them, and take a more dilated farewel.

Ber.

And I will do so.

Par.

Worthy Fellows, and like to prove most sinewy Sword-men.

Laf.
Pardon, my Lord, for me and for my Tidings.

King.
I'll see thee to stand up.

Laf.
Then here's a Man stands that hath brought his Pardon.
I would you had kneel'd, my Lord, to ask me Mercy,
And that at my Bidding you could so stand up.

King.
I would I had, so I had broke thy Pate,
And ask'd thee Mercy for't.

Laf.
Goodfaith a Cross, but, my good Lord, 'tis thus;
Will you be cur'd of your Infirmity?

King.
No.

Laf.
O will you eat no Grapes, my Royal Fox?
Yes, but you will, my noble Grapes, and if
My Royal Fox could reach them: I have seen a Medicine
That's able to break Life into a Stone,
Quicken a Rock, and make you dance Canary
With sprightly Fire and Motion, whose simple Touch
Is powerful to araise King Pippen, nay,
To give great Charlemain a Pen in's Hand,
And write to her a Love-line.

King.
What her is this?

Laf.
Why Doctor She: My Lord, there's one arriv'd,
If you will see her: Now, by my Faith and Honour,
If seriously I may convey my Thoughts
In this my light Deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that in her Sex, her Years, Profession,
Wisdom and Constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my Weakness: Will you see her?
For that is her Demand, and know her Business?
That done, laugh well at me.

King.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the Admiration, that we with thee
May spend our Wonder too, or take off thine,
By wondring how thou took'st it.

Laf.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all Day neither.

King.
Thus he his special nothing ever Prologues.

Laf.
Nay, come your ways. [Bringing in Helena.

King.
This haste hath Wings indeed.

Laf.
Nay, come your ways,
This is his Majesty, say your Mind to him;
A Traitor you do look like, but such Traitors
His Majesty seldom fears; I am Cressed's Uncle,
That dare leave two together; fare you well. [Exit.

King.
Now, fair one, do's your Business follow us?

Hel.
Ay, my good Lord.
Gerard de Narbon was my Father,
In what he did profess, well found.

King.
I knew him.

Hel.
The rather will I spare my Praises towards him,
Knowing him is enough: On's Bed of Death
Many Receipts he gave me, namely one,
Which as the dearest Issue of his Practice,
And of his old Experience, th' only Darling,
He bad me store up, as a Triple-Eye,
Safter than mine own two: More dear I have so;
And hearing your high Majesty is touch'd
With that malignant Cause, wherein the Honour
Of my dear Father's Gift stands chief in Power,
I come to tender it, and my Appliance,
With all bound Humbleness.

King.
We thank you, Maiden;
But may not be so credulous of Cure,
When our most learned Doctors leave us, and
The congregated Colledge have concluded,
That labouring Art can never ransome Nature
From her unaidable Estate: I say, we must not
So stain our Judgment, or corrupt our Hope,
To prostitute our past-cure Malady
To Empericks, or to dissever so

Our great self and our Credit, to esteem
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.

Hel.
My Duty then shall pay me for my pains;
I will no more enforce my Office on you,
Humbly intreating from your Royal Thoughts,
A modest one to bear me back again.

King.
I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful;
Thou thought'st to help me, and such Thanks I give,
As one near Death to those that wish him live;
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
I knowing all my Peril, thou no Art.

Hel.
What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your Rest 'gainst Remedy;
He that of greatest Works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest Minister:
So holy Writ, in Babes, hath Judgment shown,
When Judges have been Babes. Great Floods have flown
From simple Sources; and great Seas have dried,
When Miracles have by the great'st been denied.
Oft Expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises: And oft it hits,
Where Hope is coldest, and Despair most shifts.

King.
I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind Maid,
Thy pains not us'd, must by thy self be paid,
Proffers not took, reap Thanks for their Reward.

Hel.
Inspired Merit so by Breath is bar'd:
It is not so with him that all things knows
As 'tis with us, that square our Guess by shows:
But most it is Presumption in us, when
The help of Heav'n we count the act of Men.
Dear Sir, to my Endeavours give consent,
Of Heav'n, not me, make an Experiment.
I am not an Impostor, that proclaim
My self against the level of mine aim,
But know, I think, and think I know most sure,
My Art is not past Power, nor you past Cure.

King.
Art thou so confident? within what space
Hop'st thou my Cure?

Hel.
The Greatest lending Grace,
E'er twice the Horses of the Sun shall bring
Their fiery Torcher his durnal Ring.

E'er twice in Murk and Occidental Damp,
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy Lamp;
Or four and twenty times the Pilot's Glass
Hath told the thievish Minutes how they pass,
What is infirm, from your sound Parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and Sickness freely die.

King.
Upon thy Certainty and Confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?

Hel.
Tax of Impudence,
A Strumpet's boldness, a divulged Shame
Traduc'd by odious Ballads: My Maiden's Name
Sear'd otherwise, no worse of worst extended,
With vilest Torture let my Life be ended.

King.
Methinks in thee some blessed Spirit doth speak
His powerful Sound, within an Organ weak;
And what Impossibility would slay
In common Sense, Sense saves another way.
Thy Life is dear, for all that Life can rate
Worth name of Life, in thee hath estimate:
Youth, Beauty, Wisdom, Courage, all
That Happiness and Prime can happy call;
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate;
Sweet Practiser, thy Physick I will try,
That ministers thine own Death if I die.

Hel.
If I break Time, or flinch in Property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
And well deserv'd: Not helping, Death's my Fee;
But if I help, what do you promise me?

King.
Make thy Demand.

Hel.
But will you make it even?

King.
Ay, by my Scepter, and my hopes of help.

Hel.
Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand,
What Husband in thy Power I will command.
Exempted be from me the Arrogance
To chuse from forth the Royal Blood of France,
My low and humble Name to propagate
With any Branch or Image of thy State:
But such a one thy Vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King.
Here is my hand, the Premises observ'd,
Thy Will by my Performance shall be serv'd:
So make the choice of thine own time, for I,
Thy resolv'd Patient, on thee still rely;
More should I question thee, and more I must,
Tho' more to know, could not be more to trust:
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, but rest
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.
Give me some help here hoa! if thou proceed,
As high as word, my Deed shall match thy Deed. [Exeunt. Enter Countess and Clown.

Count.

Come on, Sir, I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.

Clown.

I will shew my self highly fed, and lowly taught; I know my Business is but to the Court.

Count.

To the Court, why what place make you special, when you put off that with such Contempt; but to the Court?

Clo.

Truly, Madam, if God have lent a Man any Manners, he may easily put it off at Court: He that cannot make a Leg, put off's Cap, kiss his Hand, and say nothing, has neither Leg, Hands, Lip, nor Cap; and indeed such a Fellow, to say precisely, were not for the Court; but for me, I have an Answer will serve all Men.

Count.

Marry that's a bountiful Answer that fits all Questions.

Clo.

It is like a Barber's Chair, that fits all Buttocks, the pin Buttock, the quatch Buttock, the brawn Buttock, or any Buttock.

Count.

Will your Answer serve fit to all Questions?

Clo.

As fit as ten Groats is for the Hand of an Attorney, as your French Crown for your Taffaty Punk, as Tib's Rush for Tom's Fore-finger, as a Pancake for Shrovetuesday, a Morris for May-day, as the Nail to his hole, the Cuckold to his Horn, as a scolding Quean to a wrangling Knave, as the Nun's Lip to the Friar's Mouth, nay, as the Pudding to his Skin.

Count.
Have you, I say, an Answer of such fitness for all
Questions?

Clo.

From below your Duke, to beneath your Constable, it will fit any Question.

Count.

It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all Demands.

Clo.

But a Trifle neither in good faith, if the Learned should speak truth of it: Here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a Courtier, it shall do you no harm to learn.

Count.
To be young again, if we could: I will be a
Fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer.
I pray you, Sir, are you a Courtier?

Clo.

O Lord, Sir—there's a simple putting off: More, more, a hundred of them.

Count.

Sir, I am a poor Friend of your's, that loves you.

Clo.

O Lord, Sir—thick, thick, spare not me.

Count.

I think, Sir, you can eat none of this homely Meat.

Clo.

O Lord, Sir—nay put me to't, I warrant you.

Count.

You were lately whip'd, Sir, as I think.

Clo.

O Lord, Sir—spare not me.

Count.

Do you cry, O Lord, Sir, at your whipping, and spare not me? Indeed, your O Lord Sir, is very sequent to your whipping: You would answer very well to a whipping if you were but bound to't.

Clo.

I ne'er had worse luck in my Life, in my, O Lord Sir; I see things may serve long, and not serve ever.

Count.

I play the noble Huswife with the time, to entertain it so merrily with a Fool.

Clo.

O Lord, Sir—why there't serves well again.

Count.
An end, Sir, to your Business: Give Hellen this,
And urge her to a present answer back,
Commend me to my Kinsmen, and my Son:
This is not much.

Clo.
Not much Commendation to them.

Count.

Not much Imployment for you, you understand me.

Clo.

Most fruitfully, I am there before my Legs.

Count.

Haste thou again.