_King._ We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us, and The congregated college have concluded 115 That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgement, or corrupt our hope. To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so 120 Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. _Hel._ My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 125 A modest one, to bear me back again. _King._ I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part; 130 I knowing all my peril, thou no art. _Hel._ What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy He that of greatest works is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister: 135 So holy writ in babes hath judgement shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources; and great seas have dried, When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 140 Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. _King._ I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. 145 _Hel._ Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows, As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. 150 Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think, and think I know most sure, 155 My art is not past power, nor you past cure. _King._ Art thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? _Hel._ The great'st grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring; 160 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp; Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, 165 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.