Page 800 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

HELENA

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. [150]
My master, my dear lord he is, and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die.
He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS
Nor I your mother?

HELENA
You are my mother, madam; would you were −

So that my lord your son were not my brother − [155]
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?

COUNTESS
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. [160]
God shield you mean it not! ‘Daughter’ and ‘mother’
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?

My fear hath catched your fondness. Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross: [165]
You love my son. Invention is ashamed

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 t’one to th’other, and thine eyes [170]

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 clew; [175]
If it be not, forswear’t; howe’er, I charge thee,