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!
-- 96 --
Speed.
Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!
Val.
How now, sirrah?
Speed.
She is not within hearing, sir.
Val.
Why, sir, who bade 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
learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a male-content;
to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to
walk alone, like one that had note the pestilence; to sigh, like a
school-boy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young
wench that had buried note her grandam; to fast, like one that
takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when
you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk
like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after
dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money:
and now you are note metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when
I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
Val.
Are all these things perceived in me?
Speed.
They are all perceived without ye.
Val.
Without me? they cannot.
Speed.
Without you? note nay, that's certain, for, without
you were so simple, none else would 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 observed that? even she, I mean.
Speed.
Why, sir, I know her not.
-- 97 --
Val.
Dost thou know her by my note gazing on her, and
yet knowest her not?
Speed.
Is she not hard-favoured, sir?
Val.
Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.
Speed.
Sir, I know that well enough.
Val.
What dost thou know?
Speed.
That she is not so fair as, of you, well favoured.
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 esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.
Speed.
You never saw her since she was deformed.
Val.
How long hath she been deformed?
Speed.
Ever since you loved her.
Val.
I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I
see her beautiful.
Speed.
If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val.
Why?
Speed.
Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine
eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to
have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered!
Val.
What should I see then?
Speed.
Your own present folly, and her passing deformity:
notefor he, being in love, could not see to garter his
hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.
Val.
Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last morning
you could not see to wipe my shoes.
Speed.
True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank
you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the
bolder to chide you for yours.
Val.
In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
Speed.
I would you were set, note so your affection would
cease.
-- 98 --
Val.
Last night she enjoined 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.
Speed. [Aside note]
O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.
Enter Silvia.
Val.
Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.
Speed. [Aside note]
O, give ye good even! here's a million
of manners.
Sil.
Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
Speed. note [Aside note]
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 note 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 stead note 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 note;—and yet note I care not;—
And yet take this again:—and yet I thank you;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed. [Aside note]
And yet you will; and yet another ‘yet.’
-- 99 --
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 note 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.
note
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard a better,
That my master, being scribe note, to himself should write the letter?
Val.
How now, sir? what are you reasoning with
yourself?
Speed.
Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the
reason.
Val.
To do what?
Speed.
To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.
Val.
To whom?
Speed.
To yourself: why, she wooes note 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.
-- 100 --
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 delivered, and there note
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.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse
you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.
Val.
I have dined.
Speed.
Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon
Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by
my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like
your mistress; be moved, be moved.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
Verona. Julia's house.
Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro.
Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul.
I must, where is no remedy.
Pro.
When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul.
If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
[Giving a ring note.
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
-- 101 --
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now:—nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should.
Julia, farewell!
[Exit Julia note.
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 Proteus, you are stay'd for.
Pro.
Go; I come, I come note.
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
The same. A street.
Enter Launce, leading a dog.
Launce.
Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;
all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have
received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am
going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab
my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother
weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid
howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a
great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one
tear: he is a stone, a very pebble note 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 shew 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
-- 102 --
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 lily, 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 note,—Oh! the dog is
me note, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my
father; Father, your blessing: now should not the shoe
speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father;
well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother: O, that
noteshe note could speak now like a wood woman note! 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 shipped,
and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter?
why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! you'll lose the
tide, if you tarry any longer.
Launce.
It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is
the unkindest tied that ever any man tied note.
Pan.
What's the unkindest tide?
Launce.
Why, he that's tied 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?
Launce.
For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
Pan.
Where should I lose my tongue?
Launce.
In thy tale.
-- 103 --
Pan.
note
In thy tail! note
Launce.
Lose the tide note, and the voyage, and the master,
and the service, and the tied 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.
Launce.
Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan.
Wilt thou go?
Launce.
Well, I will go.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Milan. The Duke's palace.
Enter Silvia, Valentine, Thurio, and Speed.
Sil.
Servant!
Val.
note
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 knocked him.
[Exit note.
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.
-- 104 --
Val.
Well, then, I'll note double your folly.
Thu.
How?
Sil.
What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?
Val.
Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.
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.
noteEnter Duke. note
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 note messenger from thence.
Duke.
Know ye note Don Antonio, your countryman?
Val.
Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth note, and worthy estimation,
-- 105 --
And not 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 know note him as myself; for from our infancy
We have conversed and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, for far behind his worth
Comes note 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;
And here he means to spend his time awhile:
I think 'tis no unwelcome note 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 note him to it:
I will note send him hither to you presently.
[Exit note.
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 enfranchised them,
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
-- 106 --
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.
Sil.
Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
Enter Proteus. note
[Exit Thurio note.
Val.
Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,
Confirm his note 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 note mistress.
Val.
Leave off discourse of disability:
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro.
My duty will I boast of; nothing else.
Sil.
And duty never yet did want his meed:
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
Pro.
I'll die on him that says so but yourself.
Sil.
That you are welcome note?
Pro.
That you are worthless note.
Re-enter Thurio. note
Thu. note
Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
-- 107 --
Sil.
note
I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,
Go note with me. Once more, new servant note, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro.
We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio note.
note
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, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning Love,
Whose note high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
And hath so humbled me, as I confess note
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his service no such note 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.
-- 108 --
Pro.
I will not flatter her.
Val.
O, flatter me; for love delights in praises note.
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,
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?
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 summer-swelling note flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro.
Why, Valentine, what braggardism note is this?
Val.
Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing
To her, whose worth makes note other worthies note nothing;
She is alone.
Pro.
Then note 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 note pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along; and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro.
But she loves you?
-- 109 --
Val.
Ay, and we are note betroth'd: nay, more note, our marriage-hour note,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determined of; how I must climb her window;
The ladder made of cords; and all the means
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Pro.
Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you note.
Val.
Will you make haste?
Pro.
I will.
[Exit Valentine. note
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.
Is it mine, or Valentine's praise, note
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia, that I love,—
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a 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.
-- 110 --
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her!
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled note 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. note
note
Scene V. [Footnote:
The same. A street.
Enter Speed and Launce severally.
Speed.
Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua note!
Launce.
Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I am not
welcome. I reckon this always—that a man is never undone
till he be note hanged; nor never welcome to a place till
some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say ‘Welcome!’
Speed.
Come on, you madcap, I'll to the alehouse with
you presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt
have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy
master part with Madam Julia?
Launce.
Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted
very fairly in jest.
Speed.
But shall she marry him?
Launce.
No.
Speed.
How, then? shall he marry her?
Launce.
No, neither.
Speed.
What, are they broken?
Launce.
No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed.
Why, then, how stands the matter with them?
Launce.
Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it
stands well with her.
-- 111 --
Speed.
What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
Launce.
What a block art thou, that thou canst not!
My staff understands me.
Speed.
What thou sayest?
Launce.
Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but
lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed.
It stands under thee, indeed.
Launce.
Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. note
Speed.
But tell me true, will't be a match?
Launce.
Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will; if he say,
no, it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.
Speed.
The conclusion is, then, that it will.
Launce.
Thou shalt never get such a secret from me
but by a parable.
Speed.
'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how
sayest thou, that note my master is become a notable lover?
Launce.
I never knew him otherwise.
Speed.
Than how?
Launce.
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Speed.
Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.
Launce.
Why fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.
Speed.
I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
Launce.
Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn
himself in love. If thou wilt, go note with me to the alehouse note;
if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name
of a Christian.
Speed.
Why?
Launce.
Because thou hast not so much charity in thee
as to go to the ale note with a Christian. Wilt thou go?
Speed.
At thy service.
[Exeunt.
-- 112 --
note
Scene VI. [Footnote:
The same. The Duke's palace.
Enter Proteus. note
Pro.
To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; note
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 bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.
O sweet-suggesting note Love, if thou hast note 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 note 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, thus note find I by note their loss
For Valentine, myself, for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most note precious in note itself;
And Silvia—witness Heaven, that made her fair!—
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
-- 113 --
Remembering that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Without some treachery used to Valentine.
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel note, his competitor.
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising and pretended note flight;
Who, all enraged, 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 note drift!
[Exit.
note
Scene VII. [Footnote:
Verona. Julia's house.
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 engraved,
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.
Luc.
Alas, the way is wearisome and long!
Jul.
A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
-- 114 --
Of such divine perfection note, as Sir Proteus.
Luc.
Better forbear till Proteus make return.
Jul.
O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly note touch of love,
Thou wouldst 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 note 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 music with the enamell'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 note 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 note may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.
-- 115 --
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 likest note, Lucetta.
Luc.
You must needs have them with a codpiece, 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 codpiece to stick pins on.
Jul.
Lucetta, as thou lovest 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 scandalized.
Luc.
If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Jul.
Nay, that I will not.
Luc.
Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey when you come,
No matter who's displeased when you are gone:
I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal note.
Jul.
That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances of infinite note of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Luc.
All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul.
Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
Luc.
Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him!
Jul.
Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love by loving him;
-- 116 --
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 note 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 to it note presently!
I am impatient of my tarriance.
[Exeunt.
William Aldis Wright [1863–1866], The works of William Shakespeare edited by William George Clark... and John Glover [and William Aldis Wright] (Macmillan and Co., London) [word count] [S10701].
