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 quips^{1 note}

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 go^{2 note}
.

Thu.
Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

Pro.
Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

Thu.
Who? Silvia^{3 note}?

Pro.
Ay, Silvia,—for your sake.

Thu.
I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,
Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in boy's claoths.

Host.

Now, my young guest! me thinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it?

Jul.

Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.

Host.

Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where you shall hear musick, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for.

Jul.

But shall I hear him speak?

Host.

Ay, that you shall.

Jul.

That will be musick^{4 note}


.

Host.

Hark! hark!

Jul.

Is he among these?

Host.

Ay: but peace, let's hear 'em.

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 her^{6 note}


,
That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?
  For beauty lives with kindness^{6 note}

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.

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 nick^{8 note}

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?

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 this^{9 note},—
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 grave^{1 note},
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.

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 well^{2 note}

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.

Jul.
Host, will you go?

Host.
By my halidom^{3 note}, I was fast asleep.

Jul.
Pray you, where lies sir Proteus?

Host.

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 heaviest^{4 note}