SCENE II.
Enter Speed.
Speed.
Sir Protheus, save you; saw you my master?
Pro.
But now he parted hence, t'imbark for Milan.
Speed.
Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
Pro.
Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be awhile away.
Speed.
You conclude that my master is a shepherd
then, and I a sheep?
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 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 follows the shepherd, the
-- 184 --
shepherd for the 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 Baâ.
Pro.
But dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?
Speed.
Ay, Sir, I, a lost mutton, gave your letter
to her, a lac'd mutton,7 note and she, a lac'd 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 over-charg'd, you were best
stick her.
Pro.
Nay, in that you are a stray,8 note '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 pin-fold.
Speed.
From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.
Pro.
But what said she: did she nod?
[Speed nods.
Speed.
I.
Pro.
Nod-I? why, that's noddy.
Speed.
You mistook, Sir: I said, she did nod:
And you ask me, if she did nod; and I said, I.
-- 185 --
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? could'st thou perceive so much from her?
Speed.
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her;
No, not so much as a ducket 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 her mind.
Give her no token but stones; for she's as hard as steel.
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 me:9 note
In requital whereof, henceforth carry your letter 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 aboard,
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore.
I must go send some better messenger:
-- 186 --
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.
Changes to Julia's Chamber.
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 ev'ry 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 of a Knight well spoken, neat and fine;
But were I you, he never should be mine.
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 Protheus?
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 thus on lovely gentlemen.
Jul.
Why not on Protheus, as on 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.
-- 187 --
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 shews his love but small.
Luc.
The fire, that's closest kept, burns most of all.
Jul.
They do not love, that do not shew their love.
Luc.
Oh, 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 shew.
Jul.
Say, say; who gave it thee?
Luc.
Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Protheus.
He would have giv'n it you, but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.
Jul.
Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!1 note
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.
Will ye be gone?
Luc.
That you may ruminate.
[Exit.
Jul.
And yet I would I had o'er-look'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 that
Which they would have the proff'rer 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?
-- 188 --
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
How angerly 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.
Luc.
What would your ladyship?
Jul.
Is't near dinner-time?
Luc.
I would it were;
That you might kill your stomach on your meat,2 note
And not upon your maid.
Jul.
What is't that you
Took up so gingerly?
Luc.
Nothing.
Jul.
Why didst thou stoop then?
Luc.
To take a paper up, that I let fall.
Jul.
And is that paper nothing?
Luc.
Nothing concerning me.
Jul.
Then let it lye for those that it concerns.
Luc.
Madam, it will not lye, where it concerns;
Unless it have a false interpreter.
Jul.
Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhime.
Luc.
That I might sing it, madam, to a tune:
Give me a note; your ladyship can set.
Jul.
As little by such toys as may be possible:
Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love.
Luc.
It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul.
Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then.
Luc.
Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.
Jul.
And why not you?
Luc.
I cannot reach so high.
Jul.
Let's see your song:
-- 189 --
How now, minion?
Luc.
Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
Jul.
You do not?
Luc.
No, madam, 'tis too sharp.
Jul.
You, minion, are too sawcy.
[Boxes her.
Luc.
Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:
There wanteth but a mean, to fill your song.
Jul.
The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Luc.
Indeed, I bid the base for Protheus.3 note
Jul.
This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation!
[Tears it.
Go, get you gone; and let the papers lye:
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!
Oh 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.
Look, here is writ, Love-wounded Protheus.
Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed,
-- 190 --
Shall lodge thee, 'till thy wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I search it with a sov'reign kiss.
But twice, or thrice, was Protheus written down;
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away,
'Till I have found each letter in the letter,
Except mine own name: That some whirl-wind 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 Protheus, passionate Protheus,
To the sweet Julia: that I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names:
Thus will I fold them one upon another;
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Enter Lucetta.
Luc.
Madam, dinner is ready, and your father stays.
Jul.
Well, let us go.
Luc.
What, shall these papers lye like tell-tales here?
Jul.
If thou respect them, best to take them up.
Luc.
Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lye, for catching cold.
Jul.
I see, you have a month's mind to them.6Q0022
Luc.
Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see:
I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul.
Come, come, will't please you go?
[Exeunt.
-- 191 --
SCENE IV.
Anthonio's House.
Enter Anthonio and Panthion.
Ant.
Tell me, Panthion, what sad talk was that,4 note
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
Pant.
'Twas of his nephew Protheus, 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 reputation
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some, to discover Islands far away;5 note
Some, to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises,
He said, that Protheus your son was meet:
And did request me to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home;
Which would be great impeachment to his age,
In having known no travel in his youth.
Ant.
Nor need'st thou much importune 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,
-- 192 --
And perfected by the swift course of time:
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 court.6 note
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;
Ev'n 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 Protheus go.
And, in good time,—now will we break with him.7 note
-- 193 --
Enter Protheus.
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.
Oh! that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
Oh heav'nly Julia!
Ant.
How now? what letter are you reading there?
Pro.
May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendation 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's an end.
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentino in the Emp'ror's court:
What maintenance he from his friends receives,
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me:
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, Panthion; you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition.
[Exe. Ant. and Pant.
Pro.
Thus have I shun'd the fire, for fear of burning;
And drench'd me in the Sea, where I am drown'd:
-- 194 --
I fear'd to shew 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.
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth.8 note
Th' uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by, a cloud takes all away!
Enter Panthion.
Pant.
Sir Protheus, 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.
-- 195 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Changes to Milan.
An Apartment 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 one.
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 Protheus, 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 diet;
to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling,
-- 196 --
like a beggar at Hallowmas.9 note You were wont,
when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you
walk'd, to walk like one of the lions; 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 perceiv'd in me?
Speed.
They are all perceiv'd without ye.
Val.
Without me? they cannot.
Speed.
Without you? nay, that's certain; for without
you were so simple, none else would:1 note 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 observ'd that? ev'n 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?
Speed.
Marry, Sir, so painted to make her fair, that
no man counts of her beauty.
-- 197 --
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 lov'd her.
Val.
I have lov'd 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 Protheus for going ungarter'd!
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 swing'd me for my love, which makes
me the bolder to chide you for yours.
Val.
In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
Speed.
I would you were set, so your affection would
cease.
Val.
Last night she injoin'd me to write some lines
to one she loves.
Speed.
And have you?
Val.
I have.
Speed.
Are they not lamely writ?
Val.
No, boy, but as well as I can do them:
Peace, here she comes.
Enter Silvia.
Speed.
Oh excellent motion!6Q0023 Oh exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.
Val.
Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.
-- 198 --
Speed.
Oh! 'give ye good ev'n; here's a million of
manners.
Sil.
Sir Valentine and servant,6Q0024 to you two thousand.
Speed.
He should give her interest; and she gives it
him.
Val.
As you injoin'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
done.
Val.
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off:
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 steed 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.
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.
Speed.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
-- 199 --
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 the scribe, to himself should write the letter?
Val.
How now, Sir, what are you* note reasoning with
yourself?
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?
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's
an end.
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,
“Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.”
-- 200 --
All this I speak in print; for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, Sir? 'tis dinner time.
Val.
I have din'd.
Speed.
Ay, but hearken, Sir: tho' the Cameleon
love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd
by my victuals, and would fain have meat: Oh be
not like your mistress; be moved, be moved.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Changes to Julia's House at Verona.
Enter Protheus 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'erslips 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:
[Exit Julia.
Julia, farewel.—What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do; it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Enter Panthion.
Pan.
Sir Protheus, you are staid for.
-- 201 --
Pro.
Go; I come.
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Changes to a Street.
Enter Launce, with his dog Crab.
Laun.
Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done
weeping; all the kind of the Launces have
this very fault; I have receiv'd my proportion, like
the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Protheus
to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the
sowrest-natur'd 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 shoe 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: 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 dog: no, the dog is
himself, and I am the dog:2 note oh, the dog is me, and
I am myself; ay, so, so; now come I to my father;
-- 202 --
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; oh
that she could speak now!—3 note like a wood woman! well,
I kiss her; why there 'tis; 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 Panthion.
Pan.
Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is
shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars: what's
the matter? why weep'st thou, man? away, ass, you
will lose the tide if you tarry any longer.
Laun.
It is no matter if the ty'd were lost, for it is
the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.
Pant.
What's the unkindest tide?
Laun.
Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.
Pant.
Tut, man, I mean thou'lt 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?
Laun.
For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant.
Where should I lose my tongue?
Laun.
In thy tale.
Pant.
In thy tail?—
Laun.
Lose the flood, and the voyage, and the
master, and the service, and the tide? why, man, if
-- 203 --
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.
Laun.
Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pant.
Wilt thou go?
Laun.
Well, I will go.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Changes to Milan.
An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Sil.
Servant,—
Val.
Mistress?
Speed.
Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val.
Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed.
Not of you.
Val.
Of my mistress then.
Speed.
'Twere good, you knockt him.
Sil.
Servant, you are sad.
Val.
Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu.
Seem you that you are not?
Val.
Haply, I do.
Thu.
So do counterfeits.
Val.
So do you.
Thu.
What seem I, that I am not?
Val.
Wise.
Thu.
What instance of the contrary?
Val.
Your folly.
Thu.
And how quote you my folly?
Val.
I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu.
My jerkin is a doublet.
Val.
Well, then, I'll double your folly.
-- 204 --
Thu.
How?
Sil.
What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change colour?
Val.
Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of Cameleon.
Thu.
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 volly 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.
SCENE V.
Enter the 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.
Duke.
Know you Don Anthonio, your countryman?
-- 205 --
Val.
Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth and worthy estimation;
And, not without desert, so well reputed.4 note
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 converst, and spent our hours together:
And tho' myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,
To cloath mine age with angel-like perfection;
Yet hath Sir Protheus, 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 compleat in feature and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke.
Beshrew me, Sir, but if he makes 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 commendations from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a while.
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
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 it:
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 lockt in her crystal looks.
-- 206 --
Sil.
Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val.
Nay, sure, I think, she holds them pris'ners 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 all.
Val.
To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:
Upon a homely object love can wink.
SCENE VI.
Enter Protheus.
Sil.
Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
Val.
Welcome, dear Protheus: 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.
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're 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 worthless.5 note
-- 207 --
Enter Servant.
Ser.
Madam, my lord your father would speak with
you.6 note
Sil.
I'll wait upon his pleasure: [Exit Serv.] Come, Sir Thurio,
Go with me. And 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.
[Exit Sil. and Thu.
SCENE VII.
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.
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, Protheus, but that life is alter'd now;
I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me7 note
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans;
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs.
-- 208 --
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chac'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O gentle Protheus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,8 note
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?
Val.
Even she; and is she not a heav'nly saint?
Pro.
No; but she is an earthly paragon.
Val.
Call her divine.
Pro.
I will not flatter her.
Val.
O flatter me: for love delights in praise.
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 principality,9 note
Sov'reign 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?
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 kiss;
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
-- 209 --
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower;
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro.
Why, Valentine, what bragadism is this?
Val.
Pardon me, Protheus; all I can, is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone.* note
Pro.
Then let her 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 seest me doat 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 Protheus, 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 road, 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 Val.
Ev'n as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another;
-- 210 --
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
It is mine Eye, or Valentino's Praise,1 note
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's 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 fire,
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.
O! but I love his lady too, too, much;
And that's the reason, I love him so little.
How shall I doat on here with more advice,2 note
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,3 note
And that hath dazeled my reason's light:
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason, but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.
[Exit.
-- 211 --
SCENE VIII.
Changes to a Street.
Enter Speed and Launce.
Speed.
Launce, by mine honesty, welcome to * noteMilan.
Laun.
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?
Laun.
Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they
parted very fairly in jest.
Speed.
But shall she marry him?
Laun.
No.
Speed.
How then? shall he marry her?
Laun.
No, neither.
Speed.
What, are they broken?
Laun.
No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed.
Why then how stands the matter with them?
Laun.
Marry, thus: when it stands well with him,
it stands well with her.
Speed.
What an ass art thou? I understand thee
not.
Laun.
What a block art thou, that thou canst not?
My staff understands me.5 note
-- 212 --
Speed.
What thou say'st?
Laun.
Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but
lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed.
It stands under thee indeed.
Laun.
Why, stand-under, and understand, is all
one.
Speed.
But tell me true, will't be a match?
Laun.
Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he
say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing,
it will.
Speed.
The conclusion is then, that it will.
Laun.
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 lover?
Laun.
I never knew him otherwise.
Speed.
Than how?
Laun.
A notable Lubber, as thou reportest him to
be.
Speed.
Why, thou whorson ass, thou mistakest me.
Laun.
Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy
master.
Speed.
I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
Laun.
Why, I tell thee, I care not tho' he burn
himself in love: If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house,
so; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not
worth the name of a Christian.
Speed.
Why?
Laun.
Because thou hast not so much charity in
thee, as to go to the ale-house with a Christian: wilt
thou go?
Speed.
At thy service.
[Exeunt.
-- 213 --
note
SCENE IX.* [Footnote:
Enter Protheus solus.
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 ev'n that pow'r, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear:
O sweet-suggesting love!6 note
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 t'exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose Sov'reignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
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, this find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.—
-- 214 --
I to myself am dearer than a friend;
For love is still most precious in itself:
And Silvia, witness heav'n, that made her fair!
Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembring 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 us'd to Valentine:
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel his competitor.1 note
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight;2 note
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 drift!3 note
[Exit.
SCENE X.
Changes to Julia's House in Verona.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Counsel, Lucetta—Gentle girl, assist me;
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'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 Protheus.
-- 215 --
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 Protheus.
Luc.
Better forbear, 'till Protheus make return.
Jul.
Oh, 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 extream rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul.
The more thou damm'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 th'enamel'd stones;
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage:
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
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.
-- 216 --
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 shew 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 fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.
Luc.
You must needs have them with a cod-piece, Madam.
Jul.
Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd.
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 Protheus 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,
And instances* note as infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Protheus.
Luc.
All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul.
Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Protheus' birth;
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
-- 217 --
His heart as far from fraud, as heav'n from earth.
Luc.
Pray heav'n 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 journey.
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 do it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The Duke's Palace, in Milan.
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Protheus.
Duke.
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while;
We have some secrets to confer about.
[Exit Thur.
Now tell me, Protheus, 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:
-- 218 --
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 stoll'n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
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.
Protheus, 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 aim 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 suggested,
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 discov'ry be not aimed at;7 note
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.8 note
-- 219 --
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 Pro.
SCENE II.
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 Tenour of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke.
Nay then, no matter; stay with me a while;
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,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where 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,
-- 220 --
For me, and my possessions, she esteems not.
Val.
What would your Grace have me to do in this?
Duke.
There is a lady, Sir, in Milan, here,8 note
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 time is chang'd)9 note
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val.
Win her with gifts, if she respects not words;
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
Duke.
But she did scorn a present, that I sent her.
Val.
A woman sometimes 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;
Tho' 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
-- 221 --
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 lockt, and keys kept safe,
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val.
What lets, 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.
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 ev'ry thing that he can come by.
Val.
By seven a 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.
[Duke reads.
-- 222 --
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying:
Oh, could their master come and go as lightly,
Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying:
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,
While I, their King, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace, that with such grace hath blest them,
Because myself do want my servant's fortune;
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,1 note
That they should harbour, where their lord would be.
What's here? Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee:
'Tis so, and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaëton, for thou art Merops'2 note son,
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heav'nly 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 heav'n, 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 hence.
[Exit.
-- 223 --
SCENE III.
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 perfection.
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 doom;3 note
Tarry I here, I but attend on death:
But fly I hence, I fly away from life.
Enter Protheus and Launce.
Pro.
Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun.
So ho! so-ho!—
Pro.
What seest thou?
Laun.
Him we go to find:
There's not an hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro.
Valentine,—
Val.
No.
Pro.
Who then; his spirit?
Val.
Neither.
Pro.
What then?
-- 224 --
Val.
Nothing.
Laun.
Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?
Pro.
Whom wouldst thou strike?
Laun.
Nothing.
Pro.
Villain, forbear.
Laun.
Why, Sir, I'll strike nothing; I pray you,—
Pro.
I say, forbear: friend Valentine, a word.
Val.
My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news;
So much of bad already hath possest them.
Pro.
Then in dumb silence will I bury mine;
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
Val.
Is Silvia dead?
Pro.
No, Valentine.
Val.
No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia!
Hath she forsworn me?
Pro.
No, Valentine.
Val.
No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!
What is your news?
Laun.
Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd.
Pro.
That thou art banish'd; oh, that is the news,
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
Val.
Oh, I have fed upon this woe already;
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?
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 chaf'd him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
-- 225 --
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, tho' thou art hence,
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Ev'n in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
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, tho' 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 at the north-gate.
Pro.
Go, Sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.
Val.
O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!
[Exeunt Valentine and Protheus.
SCENE IV.
Laun.
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 knave.4 note
He lives
not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in
-- 226 --
love; but a team of horse5 note shall not pluck 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 gossips;
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 christian. Here is the
cat log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions; Imprimis,
she can fetch and carry; why, a horse can do
no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry;
therefore she is 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?
Laun.
With my master's ship? why, it is at sea.6 note
Speed.
Well, your old vice still; mistake the word:
what news then in your paper?
-- 227 --
Laun.
The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.
Speed.
Why, man, how black?
Laun.
Why, as black as ink.
Speed.
Let me read them.
Laun.
Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou can'st not read.
Speed.
Thou lyest, I can.
Laun.
I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed.
Marry, the son of my grand-father.
Laun.
O illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy
grand-mother; this proves, that thou can'st not read.
Speed.
Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper.
Laun.
There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed!7 note
Speed.
Imprimis, she can milk.
Laun.
Ay, that she can.
Speed.
Item, she brews good ale.
Laun.
And therefore comes the proverb, Blessing of
your heart, you brew good ale.
Speed.
Item, she can sowe.
Laun.
That's as much as to say, Can she so?
Speed.
Item, she can knit.
Laun.
What need a man care for a stock with a
wench, when she can knit him a stock!
Speed.
Item, she can wash and scour.
Laun.
A special virtue, for then she need not to be
wash'd and scour'd.
Speed.
Item, she can spin.
Laun.
Then may I set the world on wheels, when
she can spin for her living.
Speed.
Item, she hath many nameless virtues.
Laun.
That's as much as to say, Bastard Virtues;
that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore
have no names.
Speed.
Here follow her vices.
-- 228 --
Laun.
Close at the heels of her virtues.
Speed.
Item, she is not to be kist fasting, in respect
of her breath.
Laun.
Well, that fault may be mended with a
breakfast: read on.
Speed.
Item, she hath a sweet mouth.8 note
Laun.
That makes amends for her sour breath.
Speed.
Item, she doth talk in her sleep.
Laun.
It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her
talk.
Speed.
Item, she is slow in words.
Laun.
O villain! that set 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.
Laun.
Out with that too: it was Eve's legacy, and
cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed.
Item, she hath no teeth.
Laun.
I care not for that neither, because I love
crusts.
Speed.
Item, she is curst.
Laun.
Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
Speed.
Item, she will often* note praise her liquor.
Laun.
If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will
not, I will; for good things should be praised.
Speed.
Item, she is too liberal.9 note
Laun.
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 help. Well, proceed.
Speed.
Item, she hath more hairs than wit, and more
faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.
-- 229 --
Laun.
Stop here; I'll have her; she was mine, and
not mine, twice or thrice in that article. Rehearse
that once more.
Speed.
Item, she hath more hair than wit.
Laun.
More hair than wit, it may be; I'll prove it:
the cover of the salt hides the salt, 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?
Speed.
And more faults than hairs.
Laun.
That's monstrous: oh, that that were out!
Speed.
And more wealth than faults.
Laun.
Why, that word makes the faults gracious:
well, I'll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing
is impossible—
Speed.
What then?
Laun.
Why then will I tell thee, that thy master
stays for thee at the north-gate.
Speed.
For me?
Laun.
For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath staid
for a better man than thee.
Speed.
And must I go to him?
Laun.
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 on your
love-letters!
Laun.
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.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Enter Duke and Thurio.
Duke.
Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you,
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.
Thu.
Since his exile she hath despis'd me most,
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
-- 230 --
That I am desperate of obtaining her.
Duke.
This weak impress of love is as a figure
1 noteTrenched in ice, 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.
Enter Protheus.
How now, Sir Protheus? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?
Pro.
Gone, my good lord.
Duke.
My daughter takes his going heavily.
Pro.
A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
Duke.
So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.
Protheus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou hast shown 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 do 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 perseveres 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 falshood, 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 circumstance,2 note be spoken
-- 231 --
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 friend.
Duke.
Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
Being intreated 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.
Thu.
Therefore as you unwind her love3 note 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, Protheus, 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 her, 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;
You must lay* note lime, to tangle her desires,
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhimes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.
-- 232 --
Duke.
Much is the force of heav'n-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 integrity:—
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews;4 note
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 concert: to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
Duke.
This discipline shews, thou hast been in love.
Thu.
And thy advice this night I'll put in practice.
Therefore, sweet Protheus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently
To sort 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 afterwards determine our proceedings.
Duke.
Ev'n now about it. I will pardon you.5 note
[Exeunt.
-- 233 --
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A Forest, leading towards Mantua.
Enter certain out-laws.
1 Out-law.
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 what you have about you;
If not, we'll make you, Sir, and rifle you.6 note
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
man.
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.
-- 234 --
3 Out.
Have you long sojourn'd there?
Val.
Some sixteen months; and longer might have staid,
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
1 Out.
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* note Robin Hood's fat friar,
This fellow were a King for our wild faction.
1 Out.
We'll have him. Sirs, a word.
Speed.
Master be one of them: it's 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 men;7 note
Myself was from Verona banished,
For practising to steal away a lady,
An heir, and near ally'd unto the Duke.8 note
-- 235 --
2 Out.
And I from Mantua, for a gentleman
Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.
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 quality much want;—
2 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 the 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 dy'st.
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 outrages
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, shall rest at thy dispose.
[Exeunt.
-- 236 --
SCENE II.
Changes to an open Place, under Silvia's Apartment, in Milan.
Enter Protheus.
Pro.
Already I've 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,9 note
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 Protheus; are you crept before us?
Pro.
Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go.
Thu.
Ay, but I hope, Sir, that you love not here.
Pro.
Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Thu.
Whom, Silvia?
-- 237 --
Pro.
Ay, Silvia, for your sake.
Thu.
I thank you for your own: now gentlemen,
Let's tune, and to it lustily a while.
SCENE III.
Enter Host, and Julia in boy's cloaths.
Host.
Now, my young guest, methinks, 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.
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 heav'ns such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind, as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.1 note
Love doth to her Eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness,
And, being help'd, inhabits there.
-- 238 --
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
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.
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 have them always play but one
thing?
Jul.
I would always have One play but one thing.
But, host, doth this Sir Protheus, 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.2 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.
-- 239 --
Pro.
Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead,
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels.
Thu.
Where meet we?
Pro.
At St. Gregory's well.
Thu.
Farewel.
[Exeunt Thurio and musick.
SCENE IV.
Silvia above, at her window.
Pro.
Madam, good even 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 Protheus, as I take it.
Pro.
Sir Protheus, 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,3 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,
Ev'n 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. [aside.]
'Twere false, if I should speak it;
For, I am sure, she is not buried.
-- 240 --
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 with thy importunacy?
Pro.
I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead.
Sil.
And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave,
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 thence,
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.
Jul. [aside.]
He heard not that.
Pro.
Madam, if that your heart be so obdurate,
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. [aside.]
If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it,
And make it but a shadow, as I am.
Sil.
I'm very loath to be your idol, Sir;
But since your falshood shall become you well* 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 Protheus and Silvia.
Jul.
Host, will you go?
Host.
By my hallidom, I was fast asleep.
Jul.
Pray you, where lies Sir Protheus?
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.
[Exeunt.
-- 241 --
SCENE V.
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, above at her window.
Sil.
Who calls?
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 impose,
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 and wise, remorseful, 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 dy'd;
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.
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 heav'n and fortune still reward with plagues.
-- 242 --
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.
Egl.
Madam, I pity much your grievances;* note
Which, since, I know, they virtuously are plac'd,
I give consent to go along with you;
Recking as little 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.
Egl.
I will not fail your ladyship:
Good morrow, gentle lady.
Sil.
Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter Launce with his Dog:
When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,
look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a
puppey, one that I sav'd 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 went 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
trencher, and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul
thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies!
I would have, as one should say, one that takes
upon him to be a dog† note indeed, to be, as it were, a dog
at all things. If I had no more wit than he, to take
-- 243 --
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 dogs, under the
Duke's table: he had not been there (bless the mark)
a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt them. 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 dogs; 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 no more ado, but
whips me out of the chamber. How many masters
would do this for their servant? nay, I'll be sworn, I
have sat in the stocks for the puddings he hath stoll'n,
otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the
pillory for the 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 serv'd me, when I took my
leave of madam Silvia; 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
farthingale? didst thou ever see me do such a trick?
SCENE VII.
Enter Protheus 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'll do, Sir, what I can.
Pro.
I hope, thou wilt—How now, you whoreson peasant,
[To Launce.
Where have you been these two days loitering?
Laun.
Marry, Sir, I carry'd mistress Silvia the dog,
you bade me.
-- 244 --
Pro.
And what says she to my little jewel?
Laun.
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?
Laun.
No, indeed, she did not: here I have brought
him back again.
Pro.
What, didst thou offer her this from me?
Laun.
Ay, Sir; the other squirrel was stoll'n from
me by the hangman's boy 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.
Away, I say; stay'st thou to vex me here?
A slave, that, still an end, 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 yon 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 thou, 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 me.
Jul.
It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token:4
note
She's dead, belike.
Pro.
Not so: I think, she lives.
Jul.
Alas!
-- 245 --
Pro.
Why do'st thou cry, alas?
Jul.
I cannot chuse but pity her.
Pro.
Wherefore should'st thou pity her?
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 doat 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 give therewithal
This letter;—that's her chamber:—tell my lady,
I claim the promise for her heav'nly picture.
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.
[Exit Protheus.
SCENE VIII.
Jul.
How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Protheus, 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 I am, unhappy messenger,
To plead for that, which I would not obtain;
To carry that, which I would have refus'd;5 note
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,
-- 246 --
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly,
As, heav'n it knows, I would not have him speed.
Enter Silvia.
Gentlewoman, good day; I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.
Sil.
What would you with her, if that I be she?
Jul.
If you be she, I do intreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
Sil.
From whom?
Jul.
From my master, Sir Protheus, Madam.
Sil.
Oh! he sends you for a picture?
Jul.
Ay, Madam.
Sil.
Ursula, bring my picture there.
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, may't please you to 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're stuft 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:
Tho' 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?
-- 247 --
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.
Sil.
Belike, she thinks, that Protheus 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 judgment, 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 lilly-tincture of her face,6 note
-- 248 --
That now she is become as black as I.
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 trim'd in Madam Julia's gown;
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments,
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-good,
For I did play a lamentable part,
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning
For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
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 beholden 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.
Farewel.
[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 much.
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 yellow.
If that be all the diff'rence in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;
-- 249 --
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine is high.7 note
What should it be, that he respects in her,
But I can make respective 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 stead.8 note
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake,
That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes,
To make my master out of love with thee.
[Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Near the Friar's Cell, in Milan.
Enter Eglamour.
Eglamour, solus.
The sun begins to gild the western sky,
And now it is about the very hour
Silvia, at Friar Patrick's cell, should meet me.
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours,
Unless it be to come before their time:
-- 250 --
So much they spur their expedition.
See, where she comes. Lady, a happy evening.
Enter Silvia.
Sil.
Amen, Amen! Go on, good Eglamour,
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're sure enough.9 note
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Changes to an Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Thurio, Protheus, and Julia.
Thu.
Sir Protheus, what says Silvia to my suit?
Pro.
Oh, 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.
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' eyes.”
Jul.
'Tis true, 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 says she to my valour?
-- 251 --
Pro.
Oh, Sir, she makes no doubt of that.
Jul.
She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.
[Aside.
Thu.
What says she to my birth?
Pro.
That you are well deriv'd.
Jul.
True; from a gentleman to a fool.
[Aside.
Thu.
Considers she my possessions?
Pro.
Oh, ay, and pities them.
Thu.
Wherefore?
Jul.
That such an ass should own them.
[Aside.
Pro.
That they are out by lease.
Jul.
Here comes the Duke.
Enter Duke.
Duke.
How now, Sir Protheus? how now, Thurio?
Which of you saw Sir Eglamour 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 Ev'n, 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 tow'rds Mantua, whither they are fled.
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.
[Exit Duke.
Thu.
Why, this it is to be a peevish girl,
-- 252 --
That flies her fortune where it follows her:
I'll after, more to be reveng'd of Eglamour,
Than for the love of reckless Silvia.
Pro.
And I will follow, more for Silvia's love,
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.
Jul.
And I will follow, more to cross that love,
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Changes to the Forest.
Enter Silvia and Out-laws.
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 th'west end of the wood,
There is our captain: 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.
-- 253 --
SCENE IV.
The Out-laws Cave in the Forest.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desart, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses, and record my woes.
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 was.
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.
—What hallo'ing, and what stir, is this to day?
These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
They've 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?
[Val. steps aside.
Enter Protheus, Silvia, and Julia.
Pro.
Madam, this service have I done for you.
(Tho' you respect not aught your servant doth)
To hazard life, and rescue you from him,
That wou'd have forc'd your honour and your love.
Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look:
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,
And less than this, I'm sure, you cannot give.
Val.
How like a dream is this, I see, and hear!
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while.
[Aside.
-- 254 --
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 Protheus rescue me.
Oh, heav'n be judge, how I love Valentine,
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul;
And full as much, for more there cannot be,
I do detest false perjur'd Protheus:
Therefore be gone, sollicit me no more.
Pro.
What dang'rous action, stood it next to death,
Would I not undergo for one calm look?
Oh, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd,
When women cannot love, where they're belov'd.
Sil.
When Protheus cannot love, where he's belov'd.
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
For whose dear sake thou then didst 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'dst 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 Protheus.
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.
Oh heav'n!
Pro.
I'll force thee yield to my desire.
Val.
Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch,
-- 255 --
Thou friend of an ill fashion!
Pro.
Valentine!—
Val.
Thou common friend, that's without faith or love;
For such is a friend now: thou treach'rous man!
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say,
I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.
Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Protheus,
I'm sorry, I must never trust thee more,
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
1 note
The private wound is deep'st. Oh time, most curst!
'Mong'st all foes, that a friend should be the worst!
Pro.
My shame and guilt confound me:
Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender't 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 heav'n, nor earth; for these are pleas'd;
By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd.
And that my love may appear plain and free,
All, that was mine in Silvia, I give thee.2 note
-- 256 --
Jul.
Oh me unhappy!
[Faints.
Pro.
Look to the boy.
Val.
Why, boy! why wag; how now? what's the
matter? look up; speak.
Jul.
O good Sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a
ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was
never done.
Pro.
Where is that ring, boy?
Jul.
Here 'tis: this is it.
[Gives a ring.
Pro.
How? let me see:
This is the ring I gave to Julia.
Jul.
Oh, cry your mercy, Sir, I have mistook;
This is the ring you sent to Silvia.
[Shews another ring.
Pro.
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 oaths,
And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart:
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root?3 note
Oh Protheus, let this habit make thee blush!
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me
Such an immodest rayment, if shame live* note
In a disguise of love.
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
Women to change their shapes, than men their minds.
Pro.
Than men their minds? 'tis true; oh heav'n! were man
But constant, he were perfect; that one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all 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?
-- 257 --
Val.
Come, come, a hand from either:
Let me be blest to make this happy close;
'Twere pity, two such friends should long be foes.
Pro.
Bear witness, heav'n,
I have my wish for ever.
Jul.
And I mine.
SCENE V.
Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio.
Out.
A prize, a prize, a prize!
Val.
Forbear, forbear, it is my lord the Duke.
—Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,
The banish'd Valentine.
Duke.
Sir Valentine?
Thu.
Yonder is Silvia: and Silvia's mine.
Val.
Thurio, give back; or else embrace thy death:
Come not within the4 note measure of my wrath.
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,—
Milan shall not behold thee.5 note Here she stands,
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.
I claim her not; and therefore she is thine.
Duke.
The more degenerate and base art thou,
-- 258 --
To make such means for her as thou hast done,
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' love.
Know then, I here forget all former griefs;
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,
Plead a new state 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 endu'd with worthy qualities:
Forgive them what they have committed here,
And let them be recalled from their exile.
They are reformed, civil, full of good,
And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
Duke.
Thou hast prevail'd. I pardon them and thee;
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts.
Come, let us go; we will* note include all jars
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.
Val.
And as we walk along, 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, Protheus, 'tis your penance but to hear
The story of your loves discovered:
-- 259 --
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours,
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.
[Exeunt omnes.5
