I how to cure a man of dropsy,
and I know how to cure of gout, of quinsy, and of asthma; I know
so much about the water and so much about the pulse that evil
would be the hour in which you would take another leech. And I
know, if I dared say it, of enchantments and of charms, well
proven and true, more than ever Medea knew. Never spake I a word
of it to you; and yet I have brought you up till now; but never
reproach yourself at all for it, for never would I have said
aught to you if I had not seen for a surety that such a malady
has attacked you, that you have need of my aid. Lady, tell me
your malady, and you will act wisely in doing so before it gets
further hold of you. The emperor has set me in charge of you that
I may take care of you; and I have given such diligence that I
have kept you in sound health. Now shall I have lost my pains if
I heal you not of this ill. Beware that you hide it not from me,
be it illness or aught else." The maiden dares not openly
disclose her whole desire because she is greatly afeard that
Thessala may blame and dissuade her. And yet because she hears
her greatly vaunt and extol herself, and say that she is learned
in enchantment, in charms and potions, she will tell her what is
her case, why her face is pale and wan; but beforehand she will
make her promise that she will hide it for ever and will never
dissuade her.

"Nurse," quoth she, "of a truth I thought that I felt no ill; but
I shall speedily think that I am sick. The mere fact of my
thinking of it causes me much ill and eke alarms me. But how does
one know unless he put it to the test what may be good and what
ill? My ill differs from all other ills; for--and I be willing to
tell you the truth of it--much it joys me, and much it grieves
me, and I delight in my discomfort; and if there can be a disease
which gives pleasure, my sorrow is my desire, and my grief is my
health. I know not then whereof I should complain; for I know
nought whence evil may come to me if it come not from my desire.
Possibly my desire is a malady; but I take so much pleasure in
that desire that it causes me a pleasant grief; and I have so
much joy in my sorrow that my malady is a pleasant one. Thessala,
nurse! tell me now, is not this sorrow which seems sweet to me,
and yet which tortures me, a deceitful one? I know not how I may
recognise whether it be an infirmity or no. Nurse! tell me now
the name, and the manner, and the nature, of it. But be well