_Count._ Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; 95 and she herself, without other advantage, 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 wished me: alone she was, and did communicate 100 to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved 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, 105 only where qualities were level; ... queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you 110 withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. _Count._ You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither 115 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. [_Exit Steward._ _Enter_ HELENA. Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn 120 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 impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, 125 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, Helen, I am a mother to you. _Hel._ Mine honourable mistress. _Count._ Nay, a mother: 130 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 135 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 140 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?