SONG.
Who is Silvia? what is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind, as she is fair?
For 7 notebeauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excells each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.
Host.
How now? are you sadder than you were
before?
How do you, man? the music 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 music.
-- 192 --
Jul.
Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host.
Hark, what fine change is in the music!
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 8 note
out of all nick.
Jul.
Where is Launce?
Host.
Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow,
by his master's command, he must carry for a present
to his lady.
Jul.
Peace! stand aside, the company parts.
Pro.
Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead,
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels.
Thu.
Where meet we?
Pro.
At Saint Gregory's well.
Thu.
Farewell.
[Exeunt Thurio and musick.
Silvia appears above, at her window.
Pro.
Madam, good even to your ladyship.
Sil.
I thank you for your music, 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?
-- 193 --
Pro.
That I may compass yours.
Sil.
9 noteYou have your wish; my will is even this,—
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 deceived so many with thy vows?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.
For me,—by this pale queen of night, I swear,
I am so far from granting thy request,
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit;
And by and by intend to chide myself,
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Pro.
I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
But she is dead.
Jul. [Aside.]
'Twere false, if I should speak it;
For, I am sure, she is not buried.
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's thence;
Or, at the least, in her's 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.
-- 194 --
Jul. [Aside.]
If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it,
And make it but a shadow, as I am.
Sil.
I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
1 note
But, since your falshood, shall become you well9Q0103
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.
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].