Ol.Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I sed a mother Me thought 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 seene Adoption striues with nature, and choise breedes A natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes: You nere opprest me with a mothers groane, Yet I expresse to you a mothers care, (Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? what's the matter, That this distempered messenger of wet? The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye? - Why, that you are my daughter? Hell. That I am not

Old.Cou. I say I am your Mother

Hell. Pardon Madam. The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honored name: No note vpon my Parents, his all noble, My Master, my deere Lord he is, and I His seruant liue, and will his vassall die: He must not be my brother

Ol.Cou. Nor I your Mother

Hell. You are my mother Madam, would you were So that my Lord your sonne were not my brother, Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers, I care no more for, then I doe for heauen, So I were not his sister, cant no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother

Old.Cou. Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law, God shield you meane it not, daughter and mother So striue vpon your pulse; what pale agen? My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I see The mistrie of your louelinesse, and finde Your salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse: You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'd Against the proclamation of thy passion To say thou doost not: therefore tell me true, But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekes Confesse it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eies See it so grosely showne in thy behauiours, That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinne And hellish obstinacie tye thy tongue That truth should be suspected, speake, ist so? If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe: If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee, As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaile To tell me truelie

Hell. Good Madam pardon me

Cou. Do you loue my Sonne? Hell. Your pardon noble Mistris

Cou. Loue you my Sonne? Hell. Doe not you loue him Madam? Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose: The state of your affection, for your passions Haue to the full appeach'd

Hell. Then I confesse Here on my knee, before high heauen and you, That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your Sonne: My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue: Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suite, Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him, Yet neuer know how that desert should be: I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope: Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue. I still poure in the waters of my loue And lacke not to loose still; thus Indian like Religious in mine error, I adore The Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper, But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam, Let not your hate incounter with my loue, For louing where you doe; but if your selfe, Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth, Did euer, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittie To her whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and giue where she is sure to loose; That seekes not to finde that, her search implies, But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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