Proteus.
Val.
Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when I to love begin.
Pro.
Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu.
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.
Val.
And on a love-book pray for my success.
-- 92 --
Pro.
Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Val.
That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro.
That's a deep story of a deeper love,
For he was more than over shoes in love.
Val.
'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, 11Q0037
And yet you never swam the Hellespont.
Pro.
Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots1 note.
Val.
No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
Pro.
What?
Val.
To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won:
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
Pro.
So, by your circumstance you call me fool.
Val.
So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.
Pro.
'Tis love you cavil at: I am not love.
Val.
Love is your master, for he masters you;
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro.
Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Val.
And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
-- 93 --
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu. My father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
Pro.
And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Val.
Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters2 note,
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend,
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
Pro.
All happiness bechance to thee in Milan.
Val.
As much to you at home; and so, farewell.
[Exit.
Pro.
He after honour hunts, I after love:
He leaves his friends to dignify them more;
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought,
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
Enter Speed.
Speed.
Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master?
Pro.
But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.
Speed.
Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep3 note 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 sheep4 note?
-- 94 --
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 follow the shepherd, the
shepherd for 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 “baa.”
Pro.
But, dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to
Julia?
Speed.
Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to
her, a laced mutton5 note; and she, a laced 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 overcharg'd, you were best
stick her.
Pro.
Nay, in that you are astray: '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, the pinfold.
-- 95 --
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 nod6 note?
Speed.
I.
[Speed nods.
Pro.
Nod, I? why that's noddy7 note.
Speed.
You mistook, sir: I say she did nod, and you
ask me, if she did nod? and I say I.
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? Couldst thou perceive so much from
her?
Speed.
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her;
-- 96 --
no, not so much as a ducat 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 your mind 11Q00388 note. 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 me9 note; in requital whereof, henceforth carry
your letters 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:
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
