Some of the incidents in this play may be supposed to have been
taken from The Arcadia, Book I. chap. vi. where Pyrocles consents
to head the Helots. (The Arcadia was entered on the
books of the Stationers' Company, August 23d, 1588.) The
love-adventure of Julia resembles that of Viola in Twelfth Night,
and is indeed common to many of the ancient novels.
Steevens.
Mrs. Lenox observes, and I think not improbably, that the
story of Proteus and Julia might be taken from a similar one in the
“Diana” of George of Montemayor.—“This pastoral romance,”
says she, “was translated from the Spanish, in Shakspeare's time.”
I have seen no earlier translation than that of Bartholomew Yong,
who dates his dedication in November, 1598; and Meres, in his
Wit's Treasury, printed the same year, expressly mentions the
Two Gentlemen of Verona. Indeed, Montemayor was translated
two or three years before, by one Thomas Wilson; but this work,
I am persuaded, was never published entirely; perhaps some
parts of it were, or the tale might have been translated by others.
However, Mr. Steevens says, very truly, that this kind of love-adventure
is frequent in the old novelists.
Farmer.
There is no earlier translation of the Diana entered on the
books of the Stationers' Company, than that of B. Younge, Sept.
1598. Many translations, however, after they were licensed,
were capriciously suppressed. Among others, “The Decameron
of Mr. John Boccace, Florentine,” was “recalled by my lord of
Canterbury's commands.”
Steevens.
It is observable (I know not for what cause) that the style of
this comedy is less figurative, and more natural and unaffected,
than the greater part of this author's, though supposed to be one
of the first he wrote.
Pope.
It may very well be doubted whether Shakspeare had any other
hand in this play than the enlivening it with some speeches and
lines thrown in here and there, which are easily distinguished, as
being of a different stamp from the rest.
Hanmer.
To this observation of Mr. Pope, which is very just, Mr. Theobald
has added, that this is one of Shakspeare's “worst plays, and
is less corrupted than any other.” Mr. Upton peremptorily determines,
“that if any proof can be drawn from manner and style, this
play must be sent packing, and seek for its parent elsewhere.
-- 4 --
How otherwise,” says he, “do painters distinguish copies from
originals? and have not authors their peculiar style and manner,
from which a true critic can form as unerring judgement as a
painter?” I am afraid this illustration of a critic's science will not
prove what is desired. A painter knows a copy from an original
by rules somewhat resembling those by which critics know a translation,
which, if it be literal, and literal it must be to resemble
the copy of a picture, will be easily distinguished. Copies are
known from originals, even when the painter copies his own picture;
so, if an author should literally translate his work, he would
lose the manner of an original.
Mr. Upton confounds the copy of a picture with the imitation
of a painter's manner. Copies are easily known; but good imitations
are not detected with equal certainty, and are, by the best
judges, often mistaken. Nor is it true that the writer has always
peculiarities equally distinguishable with those of the painter.
The peculiar manner of each arises from the desire, natural to
every performer, of facilitating his subsequent work by recurrence
to his former ideas; this recurrence produces that repetition
which is called habit. The painter, whose work is partly intellectual
and partly manual, has habits of the mind, the eye, and
the hand; the writer has only habits of the mind. Yet, some
painters have differed as much from themselves as from any
other; and I have been told, that there is little resemblance between
the first works of Raphael and the last. The same variation
may be expected in writers; and if it be true, as it seems,
that they are less subject to habit, the difference between their
works may be yet greater.
But by the internal marks of a composition we may discover
the author with probability, though seldom with certainty. When
I read this play, I cannot but think that I find, both in the serious
and ludicrous scenes, the language and sentiments of Shakspeare.
It is not, indeed, one of his most powerful effusions; it has neither
many diversities of character, nor striking delineations of
life; but it abounds in &grg;&grn;&grw;&grm;&gra;&gri; beyond most of his plays, and few
have more lines or passages, which, singly considered, are eminently
beautiful. I am yet inclined to believe that it was not very
successful, and suspect that it has escaped corruption, only because
being seldom played, it was less exposed to the hazards of
transcription.
Johnson.
That it ever should have been a question whether this comedy
were the genuine and entire composition of Shakspeare, appears to
me very extraordinary. The notions of Sir Thomas Hanmer and
Mr. Upton on this subject, which have been above stated, in
my opinion only show their want of taste and critical skill, and
their deficiency of information respecting the history of Shakspeare
and the chronological order of his dramas. They never
-- 5 --
seem to have considered whether the Two Gentlemen of
Verona were his first or one of his latest pieces; and it might,
for aught which they appear to have known, have belonged, like
The Tempest, to the latter class, notwithstanding its having so
forward a place in the first authentic edition of his plays. But
reasons have been already assigned, to show that it was the
earliest, or at least one of the earliest, of his dramatick compositions;
and therefore it is not to be weighed against that late most beautiful
and highly-wrought comedy, which in the volume published
by the players is preposterously placed before it.
Is no allowance to be made for the first flights of a young poet?
nothing for the imitation of a preceding celebrated dramatist,
which in some of the lower dialogues of this comedy (and these only)
may, I think, be traced? But even these, as well as the other
parts of this play, are as perfectly Shakspearian (I do not say as
finished or as beautiful) as any of his other pieces; and the same
judgment must, I conceive, be pronounced concerning the Comedy
of Errors and Love's Labour Lost, by every person who is intimately
acquainted with his manner of thinking and writing.
Mr. Pope has expressed his surprise, that “the style of this
comedy is less figurative and more natural and unaffected than the
greater part of this author's, though supposed to be one of the
first he wrote.” But I conceive it is natural and unaffected, and
less figurative, than some of his subsequent productions, in consequence
of the very circumstance which has been mentioned—
because it was a youthful performance. Though many young
poets of ordinary talents are led by false taste to adopt inflated
and figurative language, why should we suppose that such should
have been the course pursued by this master genius? The figurative
style of Othello, Lear, and Macbeth, written when he
was an established and long-practised dramatist, may be ascribed
to the additional knowledge of men and things, which he had
acquired during a period of fifteen years; in consequence of which,
his mind teemed with images and illustrations, and thoughts
crowded so fast upon him, that the construction in these, and some
other of his plays of a still later period, is much more difficult and
involved than in the productions of his youth, which in general
are distinguished by their ease and perspicuity; and this simplicity
and unaffected elegance, and not its want of success, were, I
conceive, the cause of its being less corrupted than some others.
Its perspicuity rendered any attempt at alteration unnecessary.
Who knows that it was not successful? For my own part, I have
no doubt that it met with the highest applause. Nor is this mere
conjecture; for we know from the testimony of a contemporary
well acquainted with the stage, whose eulogy on our author I have
already produced, that he was very early distinguished for his
comick talents, and that before the end of the year 1592, he had
-- 6 --
excited the jealousy of one of the most celebrated dramatick
poets of that time.
In a note on the first scene of this comedy, Mr. Pope has particularly
objected to the low and trifling conceits which he says are
found there and in various other parts of the play before us: but
this censure is pronounced without sufficient discrimination, or a
due attention to the period when it was produced. Every composition
must be examined with a constant reference to the
opinions that prevailed when the piece under consideration was
written; and if the present comedy be viewed in that light, it
will be found that the conceits here objected to were not denominated
by any person of Shakspeare's age low and trifling, but
were very generally admired, and were considered pure and genuine
wit. Nothing can prove the truth of this statement more decisively
than a circumstance which I have had occasion to mention
elsewhere,—that Sir John Harrington was commonly called by
Queen Elizabeth her witty godson, and was very generally
admired in his own time for the liveliness of his talents and the
playfulness of his humour; yet when we examine his writings* note,
we find no other proof of his wit than those very conceits
which have been censured in some of our author's comedies as
mean, low, and trifling. It is clear therefore that the notions of our
ancestors on this subject were very different from ours; what we
condemn, they highly admired; and what we denominate true
wit, they certainly would not have relished, and perhaps would
scarcely have understood.
Mr. Pope should also have recollected, that in Shakspeare's
time, and long before, it was customary in almost every play to
introduce a jester, who, with no great propriety, was denominated
a clown; whose merriment made a principal part of the
entertainment of the lower ranks, and, I believe, of a large portion
of the higher orders also. When no clown or jester was introduced
-- 7 --
in a comedy, the servants of the principal personages
sustained his part; and the dialogue attributed to them was
written with a particular view to supply that deficiency, and to
amuse the audience by the promptness of their pleasantry and the
liveliness of their conceits. Such is the province assigned to those
characters in Lilly's comedies, which were performed with great
success and admiration for several years before Shakspeare's time;
and such are some of the lower characters in this drama, the
Comedy of Errors, Love's Labour's Lost, and some others. On
what ground therefore is our poet to be condemned for adopting
a mode of writing universally admired by his contemporaries, and
for not foreseeing that in a century after his death, these dialogues
which set the audience in a roar, would by more fastidious criticks
be denominated low quibbles and trifling conceits* note?
With respect to his neglect of geography in this and some
other plays, it cannot be defended by attributing his errour in this
instance to his youth; for one of his latest productions is liable
to the same objection. The truth, I believe, is, that as he neglected
to observe the rules of the drama with respect to the unities,
though before he began to write they had been enforced by
Sidney in a treatise which doubtless he had read; so he seems to
have thought that the whole terraqueous globe was at his command;
and as he brought in a child in the beginning of a play,
who in the fourth act appears as a woman, so he seems to have
wholly set geography at defiance, and to have considered countries
as inland or maritime just as it suited his fancy or convenience.
With the qualifications and allowances which these considerations
demand, the present comedy, viewed as a first production,
may surely be pronounced a very elegant and extraordinary performance.
Having already given the reasons why I suppose this to have
been our author's first play, it is only necessary to say here, that
I believe it to have been written in 1591. See the Essay on the
Chronological Order of Shakspeare's Plays.
Malone.
-- 8 --
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Duke of Milan, father to Silvia.
Valentine, Gentleman of Verona.
Proteus1note
, Gentleman of Verona.
Antonio, father to Proteus.
Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine.
Eglamour, agent for Silvia, in her escape.
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine.
Launce, servant to Proteus.
Panthino2note, servant to Antonio.
Host, where Julia lodges in Milan.
Out-laws [Outlaw 1], [Outlaw 2], [Outlaw 3], [Outlaws].
Julia, a lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus.
Silvia, the Duke's daughter, beloved by Valentine.
Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia.
Servants, Musicians.[Servant]SCENE, sometimes in Verona; sometimes in
Milan; and on the frontiers of Mantua.
-- 9 --
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
ACT I.SCENE I.An open place in Verona.Enter Valentine and Proteus.
Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company,
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness5note.
But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when I to love begin.
Pro.
Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou dost meet good hap; and, in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.
Val.
And on a love-book pray for my succcess.
Pro.
Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Val.
That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont6note
.
-- 11 --
Pro.
That's a deep story of a deeper love;
For he was more than over shoes in love.
Val.
'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swom the Hellespont.
Pro.
Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots7note
.
Val.
No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
Pro.
What?
Val.
To be in love where scorn is bought with groans;
-- 12 --
Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished8note.
Pro.
So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val.
So, by your circumstance9note, I fear you'll prove.
Pro.
'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love.
Val.
Love is your master, for he masters you;
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro.
Yet writers say; as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells1note
; so eating Love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Val.
And writers say; as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow;
Even so by Love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu: my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
-- 13 --
Pro.
And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Val.
Sweet Proteus no; now let us take our leave.
To Milan, let me hear from thee by letters2note
,
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
Pro.
All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!
Val.
As much to you at home! and so, farewell!
[Exit Valentine.
Pro.
He after honour hunts, I after love:
He leaves his friends, to dignify them more;
I leave myself3note, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit4note with musing weak, heart sick with thought5note
.
-- 14 --
Enter Speed.
Speed.
Sir Proteus, save you: saw you my master?
Pro.
But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.
Speed.
Twenty to one then, he is shipp'd already;
And I have play'd the sheep6note, in losing him.
Pro.
Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,
An* note if the shepherd be awhile away.
Speed.
You conclude, that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep7note?
Pro.
I do.
Speed.
Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
Pro.
A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
Speed.
This proves me still a sheep.
Pro.
True; and thy master a shepherd.
Speed.
Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
Pro.
It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another.
Speed.
The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not
-- 15 --
the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master,
and my master seeks not me: therefore, I am no
sheep.
Pro.
The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd,
the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou
for wages followest thy master, thy master for
wages follows not thee: therefore, thou art a sheep.
Speed.
Such another proof will make me cry baa.
Pro.
But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter
to Julia?
Speed.
Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your
letter to her, a laced mutton8note
; and she, a laced
-- 16 --
mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my
labour.
Pro.
Here's too small a pasture for such store
of muttons.
Speed.
If the ground be overcharg'd, you were
best stick her.
Pro.
Nay, in that you are astray9note; 'twere best
pound you.
Speed.
Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve
me for carrying your letter.
Pro.
You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold.
Speed.
From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.
You mistook, sir; I say she did nod:
and you ask me, if she did nod; and I say I.
Pro.
And that set together, is noddy.
Speed.
Now you have taken the pains to set it
together, take it for your pains.
Pro.
No, no, you shall have it for bearing the
letter.
Speed.
Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear
with you.
Pro.
Why, sir, how do you bear with me?
Speed.
Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having
nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains.
Pro.
Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
Speed.
And yet it cannot overtake your slow
purse.
Pro.
Come, come, open the matter in brief:
What said she?
Speed.
Open your purse, that the money, and the
matter, may be both at once deliver'd.
Pro.
Well sir, here is for your pains: What said
she?
Speed.
Truly, Sir, I think you'll hardly win her.
Pro.
Why? Couldst thou perceive so much from
her?
Speed.
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from
her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering
your letter: And being so hard to me that brought
your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in
telling your mind3note. Give her no token but stones;
for she's as hard as steel.
-- 18 --
Pro.
What, said she nothing?
Speed.
No, not so much as—take this for thy
pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you
have testern'd me4note
; in requital whereof, henceforth
carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll
commend you to my master.
Pro.
Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck;
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard5note,
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore:—
I must go send some better messenger;
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exeunt.
-- 19 --
SCENE II.The Same. The Garden of Julia's House.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul.
But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Luc.
Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.
Jul.
Of all the fair resort of gentlemen,
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion, which is worthiest love?
Luc.
Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.
Jul.
What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
Luc.
As our knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
But, were I you, he never should be mine6note
.
Jul.
What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
Luc.
Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so, so
Jul.
What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?
Luc.
Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us!
Jul.
How now, what means this passion at his name?
Luc.
Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame,
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus7note
on lovely gentlemen.
-- 20 --
Jul.
Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
Luc.
Then thus,—of many good I think him best.
Jul.
Your reason?
Luc.
I have no other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.
Jul.
And would'st thou have me cast my love on him?
Luc.
Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
Jul.
Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me.
Luc.
Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.
Jul.
His little speaking shows his love but small.
Luc.
Fire that's closest kept, burns most of all8note
.
Jul.
They do not love, that do not show their love.
Luc.
O, they love least, that let men know their love.
Jul.
I would, I knew his mind.
Luc.
Peruse this paper, madam.
Jul.
To Julia,—
Say, from whom?
Luc.
That the contents will show.
Jul.
Say, say; who gave it thee?
Luc.
Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus:
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way,
-- 21 --
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.
!
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
And you an officer fit for the place.
There, take the paper, see it be return'd;
Or else return no more into my sight.
Luc.
To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
Jul.
And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter.
It were a shame, to call her back again,
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view?
Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that1note
Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay.
Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love,
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
I taught my brow to frown,
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile!
My penance is, to call Lucetta back,
And ask remission for my folly past:—
What ho! Lucetta! Re-enter Lucetta.
Jul.
This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation!—
[Tears the letter.
-- 25 --
Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie:
You would be fingering them, to anger me.
Luc.
She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit.
Jul.
Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!
O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!
Injurious wasps; to feed on such sweet honey,
And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings!
I'll kiss each several paper for amends.
Look, here is writ—kind Julia;—unkind Julia!
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
And here is writ—love-wounded Proteus:—
Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed,
Shall lodge thee1note
, till thy wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down2note:
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away,
Till I have found each letter in the letter,
Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,
And throw it thence into the raging sea!
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,—
Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia;—that I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names:
-- 26 --
Thus will I fold them one upon another;
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc.
Madam,
Dinner is ready, and your father stays.
Jul.
Well, let us go.
Luc.
What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?
Jul.
If you respect them, best to take them up.
Luc.
Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold3note
was that,
wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
-- 28 --
Pant.
'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
Ant.
Why, what of him?
Pant.
He wonder'd, that your lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home;
While other men, of slender reputation6note,
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some, to discover islands far away7note;
Some, to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises,
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet;
And did request me, to impórtune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age8note
,
In having known no travel in his youth.
Ant.
Nor need'st thou much impórtune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time;
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world:
Experience is by industry atchiev'd,
And perfected by the swift course of time:
-- 29 --
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
Pant.
I think, your lordship is not ignorant,
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court9note.
Ant.
I know it well.
Pant.
'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen;
And be in eye of every exercise,
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
Ant.
I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd:
And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it,
The execution of it shall make known;
Even with the speediest expedition
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.
Pant.
To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other gentlemen of good esteem,
Are journeying to salute the emperor,
And to commend their service to his will.
Ant.
Good company; with them shall Proteus go:
And, in good time1note
Pro.
Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn:
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
O heavenly Julia!
Ant.
How now? what letter are you reading there?
Pro.
May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendations sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
Ant.
Lend me the letter; let me see what news.
Pro.
There is no news, my lord, but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well belov'd,
And daily graced by the emperor;
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.
Ant.
And how stand you affected to his wish?
Pro.
As one relying on your lordship's will,
And not depending on his friendly wish.
Ant.
My will is something sorted with his wish:
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentinus in the emperor's court;
What maintenance he from his friends receives,
Like exhibition3note
thou shalt have from me.
-- 31 --
To-morrow be in readiness to go:
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
Pro.
My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;
Please you, deliberate a day or two.
Ant.
Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after thee:
No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.—
Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Antonio and Panthino.
Pro.
Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning;
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd:
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter,
Lest he should take exceptions to my love;
And with the vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, how this spring of love resembleth4note
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!
-- 32 --
Re-enter Panthino.
Pant.
Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;
He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go.
Pro.
Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto;
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt.ACT II.SCENE I.Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Valentine and Speed.
Speed.
Sir, your glove.
Val.
Not mine; my gloves are on.
Speed.
Why then this may be yours, for this is but one5note
.
-- 33 --
Val.
Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine:—
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah Silvia! Silvia!
Speed.
Madam Silvia! madam Silvia!
Val.
How now, sirrah?
Speed.
She is not within hearing, sir.
Val.
Why, sir, who bad you call her?
Speed.
Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
Val.
Well, you'll still be too forward.
Speed.
And yet I was last chidden for being too
slow.
Val.
Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam
Silvia?
Speed.
She that your worship loves?
Val.
Why, how know you that I am in love?
Speed.
Marry, by these special marks: First,
you have learn'd like sir Proteus, to wreath your
arms like a male-content; to relish a love-song,
like a Robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that
had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that
had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench
that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that
takes diet6note
; to watch, like one that fears robbing;
to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas7note
. You
-- 34 --
were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock;
when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions8note;
when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when
you look'd sadly, it was for want of money: and now
you are metamorphos'd with a mistress, that, when
I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
Val.
Are all these things perceived in me?
Speed.
They are all perceived without ye.
Val.
Without me? they cannot.
Speed.
Without you? nay, that's certain; for,
without you were so simple, none else would9note: but
you are so without these follies, that these follies are
within you, and shine through you like the water in
an urinal; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a
physician to comment on your malady.
Val.
But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?
Speed.
She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at
supper?
Val.
Hast thou observed that? even she I mean.
Speed.
Why, sir, I know her not.
Val.
Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet know'st her not?
Speed.
Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
Val.
Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd.
Speed.
Sir, I know that well enough.
Val.
What dost thou know?
Speed.
That she is not so fair, as (of you) well-favour'd.
Val.
I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but
her favour infinite.
Speed.
That's because the one is painted, and
the other out of all count.
Val.
How painted? and how out of count?
-- 35 --
Speed.
Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair,
that no man 'counts of her beauty.
Val.
How esteem'st thou me? I account of her
beauty.
Speed.
You never saw her since she was deform'd.
Val.
How long hath she been deform'd?
Speed.
Ever since you loved her.
Val.
I have loved her ever since I saw her; and
still I see her beautiful.
Speed.
If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val.
Why?
Speed.
Because love is blind. O, that you had
mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they
were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus
for going ungartered1note!
Val.
What should I see then?
Speed.
Your own present folly, and her passing
deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to
garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see
to put on your hose.
Val.
Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
Speed.
True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I
thank you, you swinged me for my love, which
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.
He should give her interest; and she
gives it him.
Val.
As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter,
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your ladyship.
Sil.
I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly
done5note
.
Val.
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off6note
;
For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
Sil.
Perchance you think too much of so much
pains?
Val.
No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
Please you command, a thousand times as much:
And yet,—
Sil.
A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it:—and yet I care not;—
And yet take this again;—and yet I thank you;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed.
And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Aside.
-- 38 --
Val.
What means your ladyship? do you not like it?
Sil.
Yes, yes! the lines are very quaintly writ:
But since unwillingly, take them again;
Nay, take them.
Val.
Madam, they are for you.
Sil.
Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request;
But I will none of them; they are for you:
I would have had them writ more movingly.
Val.
Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
Sil.
And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over:
And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
Val.
If it please me, madam; what then?
Sil.
Why, if it please you, take it for your labour;
And so good-morrow, servant.
[Exit Silvia.
Speed.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard a better?
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?
Val.
How now, sir? what are you reasoning with
yourself7note
?
Speed.
Nay, I was rhiming; 'tis you that have
the reason.
Val.
To do what?
Speed.
To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.
Val.
To whom?
-- 39 --
Speed.
To yourself: why, she wooes you by a
figure.
Val.
What figure?
Speed.
By a letter, I should say.
Val.
Why, she hath not writ to me?
Speed.
What need she, when she hath made you
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the
jest?
Val.
No, believe me.
Speed.
No believing you indeed, sir: But did
you perceive her earnest?
Val.
She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed.
Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val.
That's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed.
And that letter hath she deliver'd, and
there an end8note
.
Val.
I would, it were no worse.
Speed.
I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover, Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.—
; for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time.
-- 40 --
Val.
I have dined.
Speed.
Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon
love can feed on the air, I am one that am
nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat:
O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved1note.
[Exeunt.SCENE II.Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro.
Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul.
I must, where is no remedy.
Pro.
When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul.
If you turn not, you will return the sooner:
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring.
Pro.
Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
Jul.
And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro.
Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should;
Julia, farewell.—What! gone without a word?
[Exit Julia.
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
-- 41 --
Enter Panthino.
Pant.
Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro.
Go; I come, I come:—
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.SCENE III.The Same. A Street.Enter Launce, leading a dog.
Launce.
Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done
weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very
fault: I have received my proportion, like the prodigious
son, and am going with sir Proteus to the
imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the
sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping,
my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid
howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our
house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted
cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very
pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a
dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting;
why, my grandam having no eyes, look you,
wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show
you the manner of it: This shoe is my father;—
no, this left shoe2note
is my father;—no, no, this left
shoe is my mother;—nay, that cannot be so,
neither;—yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser
sole: This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother,
and this my father; A vengeance on't! there 'tis:
-- 42 --
now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she
is as white as a lilly, and as small as a wand: this
hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog3note
:—no, the dog
is himself, and I am the dog,—oh, the dog is me,
and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my
father; Father, your blessing; now should not the
shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss
my father; well, he weeps on: now come I to my
mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood
woman4note
;—well, I kiss her; why there 'tis;
-- 43 --
here's my mother's breath up and down: now come
I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now
the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks
a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino.
Pant.
Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master
is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars.
What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man?
Away, ass; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any
longer.
;
for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.
Pant.
What's the unkindest tide?
-- 44 --
Launce.
Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my
dog.
Pant.
Tut, man, I mean thou't lose the flood;
and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in
losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing
thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy
service,—Why dost thou stop my mouth?
Launce.
For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant.
Where should I lose my tongue?
Launce.
In thy tale.
Pant.
In thy tail?
Launce.
Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the
master, and the service:—And the tide6note
. Why,
man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with
my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the
boat with my sighs.
Pant.
Come, come, away man; I was sent to call
thee.
Launce.
Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pant.
Wilt thou go?
Launce.
Well, I will go.
[Exeunt.SCENE IV.Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
That hath more mind to feed on your
blood, than live in your air.
Val.
You have said, sir.
Thu.
Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.
Val.
I know it well, sir; you always end ere you
begin.
Sil.
A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and
quickly shot off.
Val.
'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil.
Who is that, servant?
Val.
Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire:
sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's
looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your
company.
Thu.
Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I
shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val.
I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer
of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give
your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries,
that they live by your bare words.
Sil.
No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes
my father.
Enter Duke.
Duke.
Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?
Val.
My lord, I will be thankful
To any happy messenger from thence.
Val.
Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation,
And not without desert so well reputed9note.
Duke.
Hath he not a son?
Val.
Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke.
You know him well?
Val.
I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,
To cloath mine age with angel-like perfection;
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature1note
, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke.
Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a-while:
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
-- 48 --
Val.
Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke.
Welcome him then according to his worth;
Silvia, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio:—
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it2note:
I'll send him hither to you presently.
[Exit Duke.
Val.
This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship,
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil.
Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val.
Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.
Sil.
Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val.
Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu.
They say, that love hath not an eye at all3note.
Val.
To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object love can wink. Enter Proteus.
Sil.
Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
Val.
Welcome, dear Proteus!—Mistress, I beseech you,
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil.
His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val.
Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
-- 49 --
Sil.
Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro.
Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val.
Leave off discourse of disability;—
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro.
My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil.
And duty never yet did want his meed:
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
Pro.
I'll die on him that says so, but yourself.
Sil.
That you are welcome?
Pro.
No, that you are worthless3note. Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Madam4note, my lord your father would speak
with you.
Sil.
I wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant.] Come, sir Thurio,
Go with me:—Once more, new servant, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro.
We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Val.
Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?
Pro.
Your friends are well, and have them much commended.
Val.
And how do yours?
Pro.
I left them all in health.
-- 50 --
Val.
How does your lady; and how thrives your love?
Pro.
My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know, you joy not in a love-discourse.
Val.
Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious* note thoughts5note
have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction6note
,
-- 51 --
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.
Pro.
Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:
Was this the idol that you worship so?
Pro.
When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills;
And I must minister the like to you.
Val.
Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality8note
,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro.
Except my mistress.
Val.
Sweet, except not any;
Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro.
Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
-- 52 --
Val.
And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour,—
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss9note
,
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower1note
,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro.
Why, Valentine, what braggardism* note is this?
Val.
Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone.
Val.
Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along; and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro.
But she loves you?
Val.
Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our marriage hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window;
The ladder made of cords; and all the means
Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Pro.
Go on before; I shall enquire you forth:
I must unto the road3note
, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val.
Will you make haste?
Pro.
I will.—
[Exit Valentine.
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia, that I love;—
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire6note
,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
-- 56 --
O! but I love his lady too, too much;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice7note
,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld8note
,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections9note
,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
-- 57 --
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.
Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for
I am not welcome. I reckon this always—that a
man is never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never
welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid,
and the hostess say, welcome.
Speed.
Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house
with you presently; where, for one shot of
five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes.
But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam
Julia?
Launce.
Marry, after they closed in earnest,
they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed.
But shall she marry him?
Launce.
No.
Speed.
How then? Shall he marry her?
Launce.
No, neither.
Speed.
What, are they broken?
Launce.
No, they are both as whole as a fish.
-- 58 --
Speed.
Why then, how stands the matter with
them?
Launce.
Marry, thus; when it stands well with
him, it stands well with her.
Speed.
What an ass art thou? I understand thee
not.
Launce.
What a block art thou, that thou canst
not. My staff understands me2note
.
Speed.
What thou say'st?
Launce.
Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll
but lean, and my staff understands me:
Speed.
It stands under thee, indeed.
Launce.
Why, stand-under and understand is
all one.
Speed.
But tell me true, will't be a match?
Launce.
Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he
say, no, it will; if he shake his tale, and say nothing,
it will.
Speed.
The conclusion is then, that it will.
Launce.
Thou shalt never get such a secret from
me, but by a parable.
Speed.
'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce,
how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable
love3note?
-- 59 --
Launce.
I never knew him otherwise.
Speed.
Than how?
Launce.
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him
to be.
Speed.
Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistaks't
me.
Launce.
Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant
thy master.
Speed.
I tell thee, my master is become a hot
lover.
Launce.
Why, I tell thee, I care not though he
burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to
the ale-house, so; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a
Jew4note, and not worth the name of a Christian.
Speed.
Why?
Launce.
Because thou hast not so much charity
in thee, as to go to the ale5note
SCENE VI.The Same. A Room in the Palace.Enter Proteus.
Pro.
To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear:
O sweet-suggesting love7note
, if thou hast sinn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.—
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
-- 61 --
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose:
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend;
For love is still most precious8note in itself;
And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair!
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope9note
.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Without some treachery used to Valentine:—
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor1note
:
-- 62 --
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight2note
;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift3note! [Exit.SCENE VII.Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul.
Counsel, Lucetta: gentle girl, assist me!
And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee4note
,—
-- 63 --
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charácter'd and engrav'd,
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.
Luc.
Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul.
A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.
Luc.
Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul.
O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luc.
I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire;
But qualify the fire's extreme rage5note,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul.
The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns:
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
-- 64 --
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Luc.
But in what habit will you go along?
Jul.
Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men:
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.
Luc.
Why then your ladyship must cut your hair.
Jul.
No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:
To be fantastick, may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.
Luc.
What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
Jul.
That fits as well, as—“tell me, good my lord,
“What compass will you wear your farthingale?”
Why, even what* note fashion thou best lik'st† note, Lucetta.
Luc.
You must needs have them with a codpiece6note
Luc.
A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.
Jul.
Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly:
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me,
For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
Luc.
If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Jul.
Nay, that I will not.
Luc.
Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul.
That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
Jul.
Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc.
Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him!
Jul.
Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
Only deserve my love, by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,
To furnish me upon my longing journey1note
.
-- 67 --
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.
[Exeunt.ACT III.SCENE I.Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus.
Duke.
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
We have some secrets to confer about.—
[Exit Thurio.
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
Pro.
My gracious lord, that which I would discover,
The law of friendship bids me to conceal:
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
-- 68 --
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Duke.
Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep;
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But fearing, lest my jealous aim2note
might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested3note,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
Pro.
Know, noble Lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at4note;
-- 69 --
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence5note
.
Duke.
Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro.
Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. [Exit.Enter Valentine.
Duke.
Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Val.
Please it your grace, there is a messenger
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.
Duke.
Be they of much import?
Val.
The tenor of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke.
Nay, then no matter; stay with me awhile;
I am to break with thee of some affairs,
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val.
I know it well, my lord; and sure, the match
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke.
No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
-- 70 --
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where6note I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
,
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court;
Besides, the fashion of the time8note is chang'd;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val.
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;
-- 71 --
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind9note
.
Duke.
But she did scorn a present that I sent her1note
.
-- 72 --
Val.
A woman sometime scorns what best contents her:
Send her another; never give her o'er;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away:
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke.
But she I mean, is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.
Val.
Why then I would resort to her by night.
Duke.
Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe,
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val.
What lets2note
, but one may enter at her window?
Duke.
Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground;
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.
Val.
Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords,
To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
So bold Leander would adventure it.
-- 73 --
Duke.
Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
Advise me, where I may have such a ladder.
Val.
When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.
Duke.
This very night; for love is like a child,
That longs for every thing that he can come by.
Val.
By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.
Duke.
But hark thee; I will go to her alone;
How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
Val.
It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
Under a cloak, that is of any length.
Duke.
A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
Val.
Ay, my good lord.
Duke.
Then let me see thy cloak;
I'll get me one of such another length.
Val.
Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
Duke.
How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?—
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.—
What letter is this same? What's here?—To Silvia?
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.
[Reads. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them3note; While I, their king, that thither them impórtune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because myself do want my servants' fortune: I curse myself, for they are sent by me4note,
-- 74 --
That they should harbour where their lord should be.
What's here?
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.—
Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son5note
,)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think, my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence6note
.
[Exit Duke.
-- 75 --
Val.
And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection7note
.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no musick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom8note:
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter Proteus and Launce.
Pro.
Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Launce.
So-ho! so-ho!
Pro.
What see'st thou?
-- 76 --
Launce.
Him we go to find: there's not a hair9noteon's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro.
Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,)
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe;
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
-- 78 --
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.
Val.
No more, unless the next word that thou speak'st,
Have some malignant power upon my life:
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.
Pro.
Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
And study help for that which thou lament'st.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love3note
.
-- 79 --
The time now serves not to expostulate:
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate;
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love affairs:
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.
Val.
I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
Bid him make haste, and meet me me at the north gate.
Pro.
Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.
Val.
O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus.
Launce.
I am but a fool, look you; and yet I
have the wit to think, my master is a kind of a
knave; but that's all one, if he be but one knave4note
.
-- 80 --
He lives not now, that knows me to be in love:
yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not
pluck5note
that from me; nor who 'tis I love, and yet
'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell
myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid: yet 'tis not a
maid, for she hath had gossips6note: yet 'tis a maid,
for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages.
She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel,—
which is much in a bare christian7note
. Here is the
-- 81 --
cate-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions8note.
Imprimis, She can fetch and carry: Why, a horse
can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but
only carry; therefore, is she better than a jade.
Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a
maid with clean hands.
Enter Speed.
Speed.
How now, signior Launce? what news
with your mastership?
It's no matter for that, so she sleep not
in her talk.
Speed.
Item, She is slow in words.
Launce.
O villainy, that set this down among her
vices! To be slow in words, is a woman's only virtue:
I pray thee, out with't; and place it for her chief
virtue.
Speed.
Item, She is proud.
Launce.
Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy,
and cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed.
Item, She hath no teeth.
Launce.
I care not for that neither, because I
love crusts.
Of her tongue she cannot; for that's
writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall
not; for that I'll keep shut: now of another thing
she may; and that cannot I help2note. Well, proceed.
, andmore faults than hair, and more wealth than faults.
Launce.
Stop there; I'll have her; she was
mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last
article: Rehearse that once more.
Speed.
Item, She hath more hair than wit,—
Launce.
More hair than wit,—it may be; I'll
-- 86 --
prove it: The cover of the salt hides the salt4note,
and therefore it is more than the salt: the hair, that
covers the wit, is more than the wit; for the greater
hides the less. What's next?
:
Well, I'll have her: And if it be a match,
as nothing is impossible,—
Speed.
What then?
Launce.
Why, then will I tell thee,—that thy
master stays for thee at the north gate.
Speed.
For me?
Launce.
For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath
staid for a better man than thee.
Speed.
And must I go to him?
-- 87 --
Launce.
Thou must run to him, for thou hast
staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.
Speed.
Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of
your love-letters!
[Exit.
Launce.
Now will he be swing'd for reading my
letter; An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself
into secrets!—I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's
correction.
[Exit.SCENE II.The same. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke and Thurio; Proteus behind.
Duke.
Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.
Thu.
Since his exíle she hath despis'd me most,
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.
Duke.
This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenched in ice6note
which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.—
How now, sir Proteus? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?
Pro.
Gone, my good lord.
Duke.
My daughter takes his going grievously7note.
-- 88 --
Pro.
A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
Duke.
So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.—
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou hast shewn some sign of good desert,)
Makes me the better to confer with thee.
Pro.
Longer than I prove loyal to your grace,
Let me not live to look upon your grace.
Duke.
Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect
The match between sir Thurio and my daughter.
Pro.
I do, my lord.
Duke.
And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
How she opposes her against my will.
Pro.
She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.
Duke.
Ay, and perversely she persévers so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio?
Pro.
The best way is, to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent;
Three things that women highly hold in hate.
Duke.
Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate.
Pro.
Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
Therefore it must, with circumstance8note, be spoken
By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend.
Duke.
Then you must undertake to slander him.
Pro.
And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do:
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman;
Especially, against his very friend9note
.
Duke.
Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
-- 89 --
Being entreated to it by your friend.
Pro.
You have prevail'd, my lord: if I can do it,
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say, this weed her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio.
from him,
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none,
You must provide to bottom it on me:
Which must be done, by praising me as much
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine.
Duke.
And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind;
Because we know, on Valentine's report,
You are already love's firm votary,
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
Upon this warrant shall you have access,
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you;
Where you may temper her2note, by your persuasion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend.
Pro.
As much as I can do, I will effect:—
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
-- 90 --
You must lay lime3note, to tangle her desires,
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhimes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.
Duke.
Ay,
Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Pro.
Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
Write, till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover such integrity4note
:—
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews5note
;
-- 91 --
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tygers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire-lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window
With some sweet concert6note
Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her8note
.
Duke.
This discipline shews thou hast been in love.
Thu.
And thy advice this night I'll put in practice:
-- 93 --
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently
To sort9note
some gentlemen well skill'd in musick:
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn,
To give the onset to thy good advice.
Duke.
About it, gentlemen.
Pro.
We'll wait upon your grace, till after supper;
And afterward determine our proceedings.
Duke.
Even now about it; I will pardon you1note. [Exeunt.
-- 94 --
ACT IV.SCENE I.A Forest, near Mantua.Enter certain Out-laws.
1 Out.
Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.
2 Out.
If there be ten, shrink not, but down with'em. Enter Valentine and Speed.
3 Out.
Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you;
If not, we'll make you sit2note
, and rifle you.
Speed.
Sir, we are undone! these are the villains
That all the travellers do fear so much.
Val.
My friends,—
1 Out.
That's not so, sir; we are your enemies.
2 Out.
Peace; we'll hear him.
3 Out.
Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man3note
.
-- 95 --
Val.
Then know, that I have little wealth to lose;
A man I am, cross'd with adversity:
My riches are these poor habiliments,
Of which if you should here disfurnish me,
You take the sum and substance that I have.
2 Out.
Whither travel you?
Val.
To Verona.
1 Out.
Whence came you?
Val.
From Milan.
3 Out.
Have you long sojourn'd there?
Val.
Some sixteen months; and longer might have staid,
If crooked fortuune had not thwarted me.
What, were you banish'd thence?
Val.
I was.
2 Out.
For what offence?
Val.
For that which now torments me to rehearse:
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;
But yet I slew him manfully in fight,
Without false vantage, or base treachery.
1 Out.
Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so:
But were you banish'd for so small a fault?
Val.
I was, and held me glad of such a doom.
1 Out.
Have you the tongues?
Val.
My youthful travel therein made me happy;
Or else I often had been miserable.
3 Out.
By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar4note
,
This fellow were a king for our wild faction.
-- 96 --
1 Out.
We'll have him: sirs, a word.
Speed.
Master, be one of them;
It is an honourable kind of thievery.
Val.
Peace, villain!
2 Out.
Tell us this; Have you any thing to take to?
Val.
Nothing, but my fortune.
3 Out.
Know then that some of us are gentlemen,
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
Thrust from the company of awful men5note
:
-- 97 --
Myself was from Verona banished,
For practising to steal away a lady,
An heir, and near allied unto the duke6note
.
2 Out.
And I from Mantua, for a gentleman,
Who, in my mood7note, I stabb'd unto the heart.
-- 98 --
1 Out.
And I, for such like petty crimes as these.
But to the purpose,—for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,
And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd
With goodly shape; and by your own report
A linguist; and a man of such perfection,
As we do in our quality8note
much want;—
3 Out.
Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you:
Are you content to be our general?
To make a virtue of necessity,
And live, as we do, in this wilderness?
3 Out.
What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort?
Say, ay, and be the captain of us all:
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,
Love thee as our commander, and our king.
1 Out.
But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.
2 Out.
Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd.
Val.
I take your offer, and will live with you;
Provided that you do no outrages9note
On silly women, or poor passengers.
3 Out.
No, we detest such vile base practices.
Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews,
And shew thee all the treasure we have got;
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt.
-- 99 --
SCENE II.Milan. The Court of the Palace.Enter Proteus.
Pro.
Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her,
She twits me with my falshood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
She bids me think, how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd:
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips1note
,
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,
And give some evening musick to her ear. Enter Thurio, and Musicians.
Thu.
How now, sir Proteus? are you crept before us?
Pro.
Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go2note
.
SONG.
Who is Silvia? what is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her6note
,
That she might admired be.
-- 101 --
Is she kind, as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness6note
:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excells each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling7note
:
To her let us garlands bring.
Host.
How now? are you sadder than you were
before? How do you, man? the musick likes you
not.
Jul.
You mistake; the musician likes me not.
Host.
Why, my pretty youth?
Jul.
He plays false, father.
Host.
How? out of tune on the strings?
Jul.
Not so; but yet so false, that he grieves my
very heart-strings.
Host.
You have a quick ear.
-- 102 --
Jul.
Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have
a slow heart.
Host.
I perceive, you delight not in musick.
Jul.
Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host.
Hark, what fine change is in the musick!
Jul.
Ay, that change is the spite.
Host.
You would then have them always play
but one thing?
Jul.
I would always have one play but one thing.
But, host, doth this Proteus, that we talk on, often
resort unto this gentlewoman?
Host.
I tell you what Launce, his man, told me,
he lov'd her out of all nick8note
.
Jul.
Where is Launce?
Host.
Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow,
by his master's command, he must carry for a present
to his lady.
Jul.
Peace! stand aside; the company parts.
Pro.
Sir Thurio, fear you not; I will so plead,
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels.
Thu.
Where meet we?
Pro.
At saint Gregory's well.
Thu.
Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians.
Silvia appears above, at her window.
Pro.
Madam, good evening to your ladyship.
Sil.
I thank you for your musick, gentlemen:
Who is that, that spake?
-- 103 --
Pro.
One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,
You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.
Sil.
Sir Proteus, as I take it.
Pro.
Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Sil.
What is your will?
Pro.
That I may compass yours.
Sil.
You have your wish; my will is even this9note,—
That presently you hie you home to bed.
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man!
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless,
To be seduced by thy flattery,
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.
For me,—by this pale queen of night I swear,
I am so far from granting thy request,
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit;
And by and by intend to chide myself,
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Pro.
I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
But she is dead.
Jul.
'Twere false, if I should speak it;
For, I am sure, she is not buried. [Aside.
Sil.
Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,
I am betroth'd; And art thou not asham'd
To wrong him of thy importúnacy?
Pro.
I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead.
Sil.
And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave1note,
Assure thyself, my love is buried.
Pro.
Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
Sil.
Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence;
Or, at the least, in her's sepulcher thine.
-- 104 --
Jul.
He heard not that. [Aside.
Pro.
Madam, if your heart be so obdúrate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep:
For, since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;
And to your shadow will I make true love.
Jul.
If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it,
And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside.
Sil.
I am very loth to be your idol, sir;
But, since your falshood shall become you well2note
-- 105 --
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it:
And so, good rest.
Pro.
As wretches have o'er night,
That wait for execution in the morn. [Exeunt Proteus; and Silvia, from above.
Marry, at my house: Trust me, I think,
tis almost day.
Jul.
Not so; but it hath been the longest night
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest4note
. [Exeunt.SCENE III.The same.Enter Eglamour.
Egl.
This is the hour that madam Silvia
Entreated me to call, and know her mind;
There's some great matter she'd employ me in.—
Madam, madam! Silvia appears above, at her window.
Sil.
Who calls?
-- 106 --
Egl.
Your servant, and your friend;
One that attends your ladyship's command.
Sil.
Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.
Egl.
As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
According to your ladyship's impose5note,
I am thus early come, to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.
Sil.
O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman,
(Think not, I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,)
Valiant, wise, remorseful6note
, well accomplish'd.
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine;
Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd:
Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say,
No grief did ever come so near thy heart,
As when thy lady and thy true love died,
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity7note:
-- 107 --
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode;
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company,
Upon whose faith and honour I repose.
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief;
And on the justice of my flying hence,
To keep me from a most unholy match,
Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues.
I do desire thee, even from a heart
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
To bear me company, and go with me:
If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
That I may venture to depart alone.
;
Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd,
I give consent to go along with you;
Recking as little9note
what betideth me,
As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go?
Sil.
This evening coming.
Egl.
Where shall I meet you?
Sil.
At friar Patrick's cell,
Where I intend holy confession.
-- 108 --
Egl.
I will not fail your ladyship:
Good morrow, gentle lady.
Sil.
Good morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt.SCENE IV.The same.Enter Launce with his dog.
Launce.
When a man's servant shall play the
cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I
brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from
drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers
and sisters went to it! I have taught him—even as
one would say precisely, thus I would teach a dog.
I was sent to deliver him, as a present to mistress
Silvia, from my master; and I came no sooner into
the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher1note,
and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul
thing, when a cur cannot keep himself2note in all companies!
I would have, as one should say, one that
takes upon him to be a dog3note indeed, to be, as it
were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit
than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think
verily he had been hang'd for't; sure as I live, he
had suffer'd for't: you shall judge. He thrusts me
himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like
dogs4note, under the duke's table: he had not
-- 109 --
been there (bless the mark) a pissing while5note, but
all the chamber smelt him. Out with the dog, says
one; What cur is that? says another; Whip him
out, says the third; Hang him up, says the duke:
I, having been acquainted with the smell before,
knew it was Crab; and goes me to the fellow that
whips the dogs6note
: Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip
the dog? Ay, marry, do I, quoth he. You do him
the more wrong, quoth I; 'twas I did the thing you
wot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me
out of the chamber. How many masters would do
this for his servant7note? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have
sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise
he had been executed: I have stood on the
pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had
suffer'd for't: thou think'st not of this now!—Nay,
I remember the trick you served me, when I took
my leave of madam Silvia8note
; did not I bid thee still
mark me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me
heave up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's
-- 110 --
farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do
such a trick?
Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro.
Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,
And will employ thee in some service presently.
Jul.
In what you please;—I will* note do what I can.
Pro.
I hope thou wilt.—How, now, you whoreson peasant?
Where have you been these two days loitering?
Launce.
Marry, sir, I carry'd mistress Silvia the
dog you bade me.
Pro.
And what says she to my little jewel?
Launce.
Marry, she says, your dog was a cur;
and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for
such a present.
Pro.
But she receiv'd my dog?
Launce.
No, indeed, did she not: here have I
brought him back again.
was stolen
from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place:
and then I offer'd her mine own; who is a dog as big
as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.
Pro.
Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again.
Or ne'er return again into my sight.
-- 111 --
Away, I say; Stayest thou to vex me here?
A slave, that still an end1note
, turns me to shame.
[Exit Launce.
Sebastian, I have entertained thee,
Partly, that I have need of such a youth,
That can with some discretion do my business,
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lowt;
But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour;
Which (if my augury deceive me not,)
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth:
Therefore know thee2note, for this I entertain thee.
Go presently, and take this ring with thee,
Deliver it to madam Silvia:
She lov'd me well, deliver'd it to me3note
.
Jul.
It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token:
Jul.
Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well
As you do love your lady Silvia:
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love;
You dote on her, that cares not for your love.
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary;
And thinking on it makes me cry, alas!
Pro.
Well: give her that ring, and therewithal
This letter;—that's her chamber.—Tell my lady
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.
[Exit Proteus.
Jul.
How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs:
Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him
That with his very heart despiseth me?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
Because I love him, I must pity him.
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,
To bind him to remember my good will:
And now am I (unhappy messenger)
To plead for that, which I would not obtain;
To carry that, which I would have refus'd5note;
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd.
I am my master's true confirmed love;
But cannot be true servant to my master,
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet will I woo for him; but yet so coldly,
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.
Enter Silvia, attended.
Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.
-- 114 --
Sil.
What would you with her, if that I be she?
Jul.
If you be she, I do entreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
Sil.
From whom?
Jul.
From my master, sir Proteus, madam.
Sil.
O,—he sends you for a picture?
Jul.
Ay, madam.
Sil.
Ursula, bring my picture there.
[Picture brought.
Go, give your master this: tell him from me,
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow.
Jul.
Madam, please you peruse this letter.—
Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not;
This is the letter to your ladyship.
Sil.
I pray thee, let me look on that again.
Jul.
It may not be; good madam, pardon me.
Sil.
There, hold.
I will not look upon your master's lines:
I know, they are stuff'd with protestations,
And full of new-found oaths; which he will break,
As easily as I do tear his paper.
Jul.
Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.
Sil.
The more shame for him that he sends it me;
For, I have heard him say a thousand times,
His Julia gave it him at his departure:
Though his false finger have profan'd the ring,
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
Jul.
She thanks you.
Sil.
What say'st thou?
Jul.
I thank you, madam, that you tender her:
Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much.
Sil.
Dost thou know her?
Jul.
Almost as well as I do know myself:
To think upon her woes, I do protest,
That I have wept an hundred several times.
-- 115 --
Sil.
Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her.
Jul.
I think she doth; and that's her cause of sorrow.
Sil.
Is she not passing fair?
Jul.
She hath been fairer, madam, than she is:
When she did think my master lov'd her well,
She, in my judgement, was as fair as you;
But since she did neglect her looking-glass,
And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks,
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
That now she is become as black as I6note
.
Sil.
How tall was she?
Jul.
About my stature: for, at pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown;
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgement,
As if the garment had been made for me:
Therefore, I know she is about my height.
And, at that time I made her weep a-good7note
,
For I did play a lamentable part:
-- 116 --
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight8note
;
-- 117 --
Which I so lively acted with my tears,
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead,
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!
Sil.
She is beholding to thee, gentle youth!—
Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!—
I weep myself, to think upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
Farewell.
[Exit Silvia.
Jul.
And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.—
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful.
I hope, my master's suit will be but cold,
Since she respects my mistress' love so much9note.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
Here is her picture: Let me see; I think,
If I had such a tire, this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers:
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow1note:
If that be all the difference in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig2note
; and so are mine:
Ay, but her forehead's low4note
, and mine's as high.
What should it be, that he respects in her,
-- 119 --
But I can make respective5note in myself,
If this fond love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd and ador'd;
And, were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead6note
.
-- 120 --
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake,
That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
-- 121 --
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes7note
,
To make my master out of love with thee.
[Exit.ACT V.SCENE I.The Same. An Abbey.Enter Eglamour.
Egl.
The sun begins to gild the western sky;
And now it is about the very hour
That Silvia, at friar Patrick's cell, should meet me8note
.
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours,
Unless it be to come before their time;
So much they spur their expedition.
Enter Silvia.
See, where she comes: Lady, a happy evening!
Sil.
Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour,
-- 122 --
Out at the postern by the abbey-wall;
I fear, I am attended by some spies.
Egl.
Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;
If we recover that, we are sure enough9note. [Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia.
Thu.
Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?
Pro.
O, sir, I find her milder than she was;
And yet she takes exceptions at your person.
Thu.
What, that my leg is too long?
Pro.
No; that it is too little.
Thu.
I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder.
Pro.
But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths* note.
Thu.
What says she to my face?
Pro.
She says, it is a fair one.
Thu.
Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black.
Pro.
But pearls are fair, and the old saying is,
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes1note
.
-- 123 --
Jul.
'Tis true2note, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes;
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside.
Thu.
How likes she my discourse?
Pro.
Ill, when you talk of war.
Thu.
But well, when I discourse of love, and peace?
Jul.
But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. [Aside.
Thu.
What syas she to my valour?
Pro.
O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.
Jul.
She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. [Aside.
Duke.
How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio?
Which of you saw sir Eglamour4note, of late?
Thu.
Not I.
Pro.
Nor I.
Duke.
Saw you my daughter?
Pro.
Neither.
Duke.
Why, then she's fled unto that peasant Valentine:
And Eglamour is in her company.
'Tis true; for friar Laurence met them both,
As he in penance wander'd through the forest:
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she;
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it:
Besides, she did intend confession
At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not:
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
But mount you presently; and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot
That leads towards Mantua; whither they are fled:
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit.
Thu.
Why, this it is to be a peevish girl5note
,
That flies her fortune when it follows her:
I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour,
Than for the love of reckless Silvia6note
. [Exit.
Pro.
And I will follow, more for Silvia's love,
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit.
-- 125 --
Jul.
And I will follow, more to cross that love,
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit.SCENE III.Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest.Enter Silvia and Out-laws.
1 Out.
Come, come; be patient, we must bring
you to our captain.
Sil.
A thousand more mischances than this one
Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently.
2 Out.
Come, bring her away.
1 Out.
Where is the gentleman that was with her?
3 Out.
Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us,
But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him.
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood,
There is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled;
The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape.
1 Out.
Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave:
Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,
And will not use a woman lawlessly.
Sil.
O Valentine, this I endure for thee! [Exeunt.SCENE IV.Another Part of the Forest.Enter Valentine.
Val.
How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
-- 126 --
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And, to the nightingale's complaining notes,
Tune my distresses, and record my woes7note
.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was8note
!
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!—
What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day?
These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
Have some unhappy passenger in chace:
They love me well; yet I have much to do,
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Withdraw thee, Valentine; who's this comes here? [Steps aside.
-- 127 --
Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia.
Pro.
Madam, this service I have done for you,
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,)
To hazard life, and rescue you from him,
That would have forc'd your honour and your love.
Vouchsafe me, for my meed9note
, but one fair look;
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,
And less than this, I am sure you cannot give.
Val.
How like a dream is this, I see, and hear!
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. [Aside.
Sil.
O miserable, unhappy that I am!
Pro.
Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;
But, by my coming, I have made you happy.
Sil.
By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy.
Jul.
And me, when he approacheth to your presence. [Aside.
Sil.
Had I been seized by a hungry lion,
I would have been a breakfast to the beast,
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
O, heaven be judge, how I love Valentine,
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul1note
?
And full as much (for more there cannot be,)
I do detest false perjur'd Proteus:
Therefore be gone, solicit me no more.
-- 128 --
Pro.
What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
Would I not undergo for one calm look?
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd2note,
When women cannot love, where they're belov'd.
Sil.
When Proteus cannot love, where he's belov'd.
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
Descended into perjury, to love me.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou had'st two,
And that's far worse than none; better have none
Than plural faith, which is too much by one:
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!
Pro.
In love,
Who respects friend?
Sil.
All men but Proteus.
Pro.
Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I'll woo you like a soldier at arms' end;
And love you 'gainst the nature of love: force you.
Sil.
O heaven!
Pro.
I'll force thee yield to my desire.
Val.
Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch;
Thou friend of an ill fashion!
Pro.
Valentine!
Val.
Thou common friend, that's without faith or love3note;
(For such is a friend now,) treacherous man!
Thou has beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me: Now I dare not say,
I have one friend alive; thou would'st disprove me.
-- 129 --
Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand4note
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus,
I am sorry, I must never trust thee more,
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst5note
!
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst!
-- 130 --
Pro.
My shame and guilt confounds me.—
Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender it here; I do as truly suffer,
As e'er I did commit.
Val.
Then I am paid;
And once again I do receive thee honest:—
Who by repentance is not satisfy'd,
Is nor of heaven, nor earth; for these are pleas'd;
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd:—
And, that my love may appear plain and free,
All, that was mine in Silvia, I give thee6note
.
-- 131 --
Jul.
O me unhappy!
[Faints.
Pro.
Look to the boy.
Val.
Why, boy! why, wag7note! how now? what's
the matter? look up; speak.
Jul.
O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver
a ring to madam Silvia8note; which, out of my
neglect, was never done.
O, cry your mercy, sir, I have mistook;
this is the ring you sent to Silvia.
[Shews another ring.
Pro.
But, how cam'st thou by this ring? at my
depart I gave this unto Julia.
Jul.
And Julia herself did give it me;
And Julia herself hath brought it hither.
Pro.
How! Julia!
Jul.
Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths1note
,
And entertain'd them deeply in her heart:
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root2note
?
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me
Such an immodest raiment; if shame live
In a disguise of love3note:
-- 133 --
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
Women to change their shapes, than men their minds.
Pro.
Than men their minds: 'tis true: O heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect: that one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins:
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?
Val.
Come, come, a hand from either:
Let me be blest to make this happy close;
'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.
Pro.
Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.
Jul.
And I mine4note
. Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio.
Out.
A prize, a prize, a prize!
Val.
Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the duke5note.
Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,
-- 134 --
Banished Valentine.
Duke.
Sir Valentine!
Thu.
Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.
Val.
Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;
Come not within the measure of my wrath6note:
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,
Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands7note
,
Take but possession of her with a touch;—
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.
Thu.
Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger
His body for a girl that loves him not:
-- 135 --
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.
Duke.
The more degenerate and base art thou,
To make such means for her as thou hast done8note
,
And leave her on such slight conditions.—
Now, by the honour of my ancestry,
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
And think thee worthy of an empress' love9note
.
Know then, I here forget all former griefs1note,
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.—
Plead a new state2note
in thy unrival'd merit,
To which I thus subscribe,—sir Valentine,
Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd;
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her.
Val.
I thank your grace; the gift hath made me happy.
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake,
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.
Duke.
I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be.
Val.
These banish'd men, that I have kept withal,
Are men endued with worthy qualities;
Forgive them what they have committed here,
And let them be recall'd from their exíle:
They are reformed, civil, full of good,
And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
Duke.
Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them, and thee;
-- 136 --
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts.
Come, let us go; we will include all jars3note
Val.
And as we walk alone, I dare be bold
With our discourse to make your grace to smile:
What think you of this page, my lord?
Duke.
I think the boy hath grace in him: he blushes.
Val.
I warrant you, my lord; more grace than boy.
Duke.
What mean you by that saying?
Val.
Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along,
That you will wonder, what hath fortuned.—
Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance, but to hear
The story of your loves discovered:
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness5. [Exeunt.
