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Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:

God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother

So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?

My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see

The mystery of your loneliness, and find

Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross

You love my son; invention is ashamed,

Against the proclamation of thy passion,

To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;

But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks

Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes

See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors

That in their kind they speak it: only sin

And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;

If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,

As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,

Tell me truly.

William Shakespeare All's Well That Ends Well Act 1, sc.3, ll.163-181

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