Sped.

Dear sir, proceed no farther in this dangerous forest, what will become of us if we fall into the hands of the outlaws?

Val.
Can there be addition to my misery?
If there can, I'll counterfeit some story. Enter several Outlaws.

1 Out.
Fellows stand fast, here are passengers.
Stand, sir, or we'll make you.

Speed.

Sir, we are undone; these are the villians that all the travellers 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.
A man I am, cross'd with adversity;
My riches are those poor habiliments,
Of which if you should here disfurnish me,
You take the sum and substance that I have.

1 Out.
Whither travel you?

Val.
To Verona.

1 Out.
Whence came you?

Val.
From Milan.

1 Out.
Have you long sojourn'd there?

Val.
Not very long, but 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.

2 Out.
By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,
This fellow were a king for our wild faction.

1 Out.
We'll have him. Sirs a word, [They whisper.

Speed.

Master, be one of them: it's an honourable kind of thievery.

Val.
Peace, Villian.

1 Out.
Tell us this; have you any thing to take to?

Val.
Nothing but my fotune.

1 Out.
Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth

Thrust from the company of awful men:
My self was from Verona banished,
For practising to steal away a lady,
An heiress, and near ally'd unto the duke.
But to the purpose; for we'll cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;
You seem a gentleman, and beautified
With goodly shape, and by your own report
A linguist, and a man of such perfection
As we do in our quality much want.
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?

2 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.

1 Out.
No, we detest such vile 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. SCENE II. An open Place under Silvia's apartment in the Palace. 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,

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 music to her ear. Enter Thurio, Musicians, &c.

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?

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 allycholy: I pray, what is it?

Jul.

Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry; I have heard too much since my arrival here.

Host.

Come, we'll have you merry: I have brought you where you shall hear music, 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 music.

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'n such grace did lend her,
    That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair?
  For beauty 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 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 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, would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.

Host.
I perceive you delight not in music.

Jul.
Not a whit when it jars so.

Host.
Did you mark that fine change in the music?

Jul.
Ay; that change is the spight.

Host.
You would have them always play but one thing?

Jul.
I would always have me play but one thing.
But, host, doth this Protheus that we talk on,
Often resort unto this lady?

Host.

I tell you what, Launce his man told me he lov'd her out of all nick.

Jul.

Where is Launce?

Host.

Gone to seek his master's dog, which to-morrow, by his command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

Jul.
Peace, stand aside, the company parts.

Pro.
Lord 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.
Farewel. Exit. Thu. and Music.

SCENE IV. Enter Silvia above.

Pro.
Madam, good even to your ladyship.

Sil.
I thank you for your music, gentlemen:
Who is he 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 your's.

Sil.
You 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 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.]
Very near it, indeed;
But 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 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.

Jul. [Aside.]
If 'twere a substance you would sure deceive it,
And make it but a shadow as I am.

Sil.
I'm very loth to be your idol, sir;
But since your falshood shall become you well,
To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it:
And so good rest. Exit.

Pro.
As wretches have o'er night,
That wait for execution in the morn. Exit.

Jul.
Host, will you go?

Host.
By my halidom I was fast asleep.

Jul.
Pray you where lies Sir Protheus?

Host.
Marry at my house: trust me I think 'tis almost day.

Jul.
Tis so, but it hath been the longest night,
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heavy one. Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter Eglamour.

Egl.
This is the hour the lady Silvia
Entreated me to call and know her mind:
There's some great matter she'd employ me in.
Madam, madam! Enter Silvia above.

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.
According to your ladyship's impose,
I am thus early come, to know what service,
It is your pleasure to command me in.

Sil.
Oh 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.
Thy self 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 rgues,
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;
Which, since I know they virtuously are plac'd,
I give consent to go along with you,
Reck'ning as little what betideth me,
As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go?

Sil.
This morning coming on at nine.

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. Sir Protheus Lodgings.

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 puppy, one that I sav'd from drowping, 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 just now to lady Silvia, from my master, having lost his dog Squirel, and I came no sooner into her breakfasting chamber, but he steps me up to her plate and steals her toast and butter. O! 'tis a foul thing, when

cur cannot keep himself in all companies! If I had no more wit than he, to take his faults upon me, I think verily he'd be hang'd; for't; you shall judge. T'other day he thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under the duke's table: he had not been there (bless the mark) a watering-while, but all the chamber smelt him. 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 marrow puddings he hath stol'n, otherwise he had been executed. 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 mark me, and do as I do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg against a gentlewoman's farthingale? didst thou ever see me do such a trick?