y love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA.

Then I confess
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son:--
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:
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain; strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and untenable sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to love still: thus, Indian-like,
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,
Whose aged honor 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
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.

This old Countess of Roussillon is a charming sketch. She is like one of
Titian's old women, who still, amid their wrinkles, remind us of that
soul of beauty and sensibility, which must have animated them when
young. She is a fine contrast to Lady Capulet--benign, cheerful, and
affectionate; she has a benevolent enthusiasm, which neither age, nor
sorrow, nor pride can wear away. Thus, when she is brought to believe
that Helen nourishes a secret attachment for her son, she observes--

Even so it was with me when I was young!
This thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong,
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
When love's strong passion is impress'd in youth.

Her fond, maternal love for Helena, whom she has brought up: her pride
in her good qualities overpowering all her own prejudices of rank and
birth, are most natural in such a mind; and her indignation against her
son, however strongly expressed, never forgets the mother.