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.9Q0092
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
diet5 note
; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to
-- 142 --
speak puling, like a beggar at 6 note
Hallowmas. 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, 7 notenone else would: 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? even she I mean.
Speed.
Why, sir, I know her not.
Val.
Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet know'st her not?
Speed.
Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
Val.
Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd.
-- 143 --
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.
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.
-- 144 --
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.
8 note
Oh excellent motion! Oh exceeding puppet!
now will he interpret to her.
Val.
Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.
Speed.
Oh! 'give ye good even! here's a million
of manners.
Sil.
9 note
Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
-- 145 --
Speed.
He should give her interest; and she gives
it him.
Val.
As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter,
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your ladyship.
Sil.
I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly
done1 note
.
Val.
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off2 note
;
For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
Sil.
Perchance you think too much of so much
pains?
Val.
No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
Please you command, a thousand times as much:
And yet,—
Sil.
A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it:—and yet I care not;—
And yet take this again;—and yet I thank you;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed.
And yet you will; and yet another yet.
[Aside.
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.
-- 146 --
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,
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 3 notereasoning 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 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.
-- 147 --
Val.
That's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed.
And that letter hath she deliver'd, and
there an end4 note
.
Val.
I would, it were no worse.
Speed.
I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often you have 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.—
All this I speak in print5 note
; for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time.
Val.
I have din'd.
Speed.
Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon
love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd
by my victuals, and would fain have meat: Oh be
not like your mistress; be moved, be moved.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
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.
-- 148 --
Jul.
If you turn not, you will return the sooner:
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
[Giving a ring.
Pro.
Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
Jul.
And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro.
Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should:
[Exit Julia.
Julia, farewell.—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 Panthino.
Pan.
Sir Protheus, you are staid for.
Pro.
Go; I come, I come:—
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A street.
Enter Launce, leading a dog.
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
sourest natur'd dog that lives: my mother weeping,
my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid
-- 149 --
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; 6 note
I am the dog:—no, the
dog is himself, and 7 noteI am the dog,—oh, the dog is
me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to
my father; Father, your blessing; now should not the
shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss
my father; well, he weeps on:9Q0093 now come I to my
mother;—oh that she could speak now 8 note
like a wood
-- 150 --
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 Panthino.
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 lost9 note
; for it
is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.
Pan.
What's the unkindest tide?
Laun.
Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.
Pan.
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.
Pan.
Where should I lose my tongue?
Laun.
In thy tale.
-- 151 --
Pan.
In thy tail?
Laun.
1 noteLose the tide, and the voyage, and the
master, and the service, and the tide2 note? Why, man,
if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my
tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the
boat with my sighs.
Pan.
Come, come away, man; I was sent to call
thee.
Laun.
Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pan.
Wilt thou go?
Laun.
Well, I will go.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
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 knock'd 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.
-- 152 --
Thu.
What instance of the contrary?
Val.
Your folly.
Thu.
And how quote3 note
you my folly?
Val.
I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu.
My jerkin is a doublet.
Val.
Well, then, I'll double your folly.
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 volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly
shot off.
Val.
'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil.
Who is that, servant?
Val.
Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire:
sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's
looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your
company.
Thu.
Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I
shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val.
I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer
of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give
your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries,
that they live by your bare words.
Sil.
No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes
my father.
-- 153 --
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?
Val.
Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation,
And 4 notenot without desert so well reputed.
Duke.
Hath he not a son?
Val.
Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke.
You know him well?
Val.
I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,
To cloath mine age with angel-like perfection;
Yet hath sir 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 complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke.
Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates;
-- 154 --
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:9Q0094
I'll send him hither to you presently.
[Exit Duke.
Val.
This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship,
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil.
Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val.
Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.
Sil.
Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val.
Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu.
They say, that love hath not an eye at all.
Val.
To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object love can wink.
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.
-- 155 --
Sil.
And duty never yet did want his meed:
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
Pro.
I'll die on him that says so, but yourself.
Sil.
That you are welcome?
Pro.
5 noteNo; that you are worthless.
Enter Servant.
6 noteSer.
Madam, my lord your father would speak
with you.
Sil.
I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Serv.] Come, Sir Thurio,
Go with me:—Once more, new servant, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro.
We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exit Silvia and Thurio.
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;
7 noteWhose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
-- 156 --
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
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 8 note
no woe to his correction,
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 heavenly 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 9 notea principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro.
Except my mistress.
Val.
Sweet, except not any;
Except thou wilt except against my love,
Pro.
Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
-- 157 --
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,
Disdain to root the 1 note
summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro.
Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val.
Pardon me, Protheus: all I can, is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
2 noteShe is alone.
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 see'st 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,
-- 158 --
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.
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
3 note
Is it mine eye, or Valentino's praise,
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 fire4 note,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
-- 159 --
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 her 5 note
with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
6 note
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazled so 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.
-- 160 --
SCENE V.
A street.
Enter Speed and Launce.
Speed.
Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to
7 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?
8 note
My staff understands me.
-- 161 --
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 though 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-house9 note
with a Christian:
wilt thou go?
Speed.
At thy service.
[Exeunt.
-- 162 --
1 noteSCENE VI.
Enter Protheus.
Pro.
To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear:
2 note
O sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.—
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
-- 163 --
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.
I to myself am dearer than a friend;
For love is still more precious in itself:
And Silvia, witness heaven, 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;
3 note
Myself in counsel, his competitor:
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and 4 note
pretended flight;
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,
5 noteAs thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!
[Exit.
-- 164 --
SCENE VII.
Julia's house in Verona.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul.
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.
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 extreme 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 the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
-- 165 --
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.
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 fantastic, 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 that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.
Luc.
You must needs have them 6 notewith a cod-piece, madam.
Jul.
Out, out, Lucetta7 note! that will be ill-favour'd.
-- 166 --
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 8 noteas 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;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc.
Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him!
Jul.
Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love, by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,
To furnish me upon my longing journey9 note.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
-- 167 --
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
