_Count._ Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose 180 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. 185 My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; 190 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, 195 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, 200 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 205 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,-- To go to Paris?
_Hel._ I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me 215 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, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof 220 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 225 Haply been absent then.
_Count._ 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, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit 230 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself?