Helen's Soliloqy
Our
remedies
oft
in
ourselves
do
lie
Which
we
ascribe
to
heaven.
The
fated
sky
Gives
us
free
scope,
only
doth
backward
pull
Our
slow
designs
when
we
ourselves
are
dull.
What
power
is
it
which
mounts
my
love
so
high,
That
makes
me
see,
and
cannot
feed
mine
eye?
The
mightiest
space
in
fortune
nature
brings
To
join
like
likes
and
kiss
like
native
things.
Impossible
be
strange
attempts
to
those
That
weigh
their
pains
in
sense
and
do
suppose
What
hath
been
cannot
be.
Who
ever
strove
To
show
her
merit
that
did
miss
her
love?
