HEL. Mine honourable mistress.
COUNT.

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 enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds :
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:-
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
Το 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 Rousillon 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 servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNT.

Nor I your mother?

Or them we thought then none.] The old copy reads,-
"— Or then we thought them none."

For the transposition of them and then, I am responsible.

I care no more for,-] "There is a designed ambiguity: 'I care no more for,' is 'I care as much for.'"-FARMER. It would somewhat lessen the perplexity of this difficult passage, if we suppose the present line to be spoken aside; but, in truth, the text

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 heaven,
So I were not his sister: can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
COUNT. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law;

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,

gross,c

So strive upon your pulse: what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis
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, 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 clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
HEL.

Good madam, pardon me!

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 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 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 ‡ 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 aged 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.
COUNT. Had you not lately an intent, speak
truly,

Το

go

to Paris?

But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,

Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy (1)
(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 questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

2 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.

Вотн. Our hearts receive your warnings. KING. Farewell.-Come hither to me.

[The KING retires to a couch. 1 LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay

behind us!

PAR. 'T is not his fault, the spark. 2 LORD. O, 't is 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 't is too early. PAR. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.

BER. I shall stay here the fore-horse to a smock," Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with (2) By heaven, I'll steal

away.

1 LORD. There's honour in the theft. PAR. Commit it, count. 2 LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell. BER. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. b

1 LORD. Farewell, 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 the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was

(*) First folio, his cicatrice with.

*

this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me.

2 LORD. We shall, noble captain. PAR. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you* do? BER. Stay: the king

PAR. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself 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 gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BER. And I will do so.

PAR. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLles.

Enter LAFEU.

LAF. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings.

KING. I'll sue thee to stand up.
LAF. Then here's a man stands, that has
brought his pardon.
[mercy;

I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me
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.
['t is thus ;
LAF. Good faith, across : d
but, my good lord,
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, an if

My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine,

That's able to breathe 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 Pepin, nay,

(*) Old text, ye.

"I would you had kneel'd, my lord," &c.

d Good faith, across:] Across, in reference to the sports of chivalry, in which, to break a spear across the body of an opponent was disgraceful, came to be used in derision when any pass of wit miscarried. Here, however, we believe Lafeu alludes rather to some game, where certain successes entitle the achiever to mark a cross.

e Yes, but you will, my noble grapes,-] My in this passage has been changed in some modern editions to ay, but needlessly; we have only to read " my" emphatically, and the sense is obvious:

"O, will you eat no grapes? &c.

Yes, but you will, my noble grapes."

And make you dance canary.-] To what has already been said on the nature of this sprightly dance (see note (a), vol. I. p. 64), may be added, that the dancers accompanied their movements with castagnets: see Florio, who defines Chioppare "to clacke or snap, or phip, or click, or lirp with ones fingers, as they that dance the Canaries, or as some barbers."

C