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, 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 from madam Silvia. Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she woos 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.

Speel. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did you perceive her earnest ?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speet. 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 an end.

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 print; for in print I found it,
Why muse you sir? 'tis dinner-time.

Val. I have dined.

Speel. 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. A room in 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. 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, 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 the 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.

a

no

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 pebblestone, and has no more pity in him than a dog Jew would have wept to have seen our patting; 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; 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 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;--0, 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: now come I to my mother, (0, that she could speak now!) like a woods 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.

Pant. 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 will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost: for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pant. 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. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Laun. In thy tale.

Pant. In thy tail?

Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide !-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.

Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.

Pant. Wilt thou go?

Laun. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

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.

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How?

Si!. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change

color?

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.

Vat. 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.

Enter 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 Antonio, your countryman?

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed.

Duke. Hath he not a son?

Val. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves The honor and regard of such a father.

Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew 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, bat 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; And here he means to spend his time awhile; 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 'cites him to it : 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

Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servan To have a look of such a worthy mistress. sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Val. Leave off discourse of disability:

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? Pro.

No; that you are worth

Val. And how do yours? Pro.

I left them all in health Val. How does your lady? and how thrives you 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 altered now: I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthrall'd eyes, For. in revenge of my contempt of love, And made them watchers of mine own heart's so

row.

O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as I confess,
There is 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 eyɛ 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 praises.
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pil's
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 lo
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 honor,-
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
And. of so great a favor growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this Val. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can. is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing She is alone.

Pro. Then let her alone.

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is init

Ay, and we are betroth'd; more, our marriage hour, Lid the cunning manner of our flight, nind of: how I must climb her window; adder made of cords; and all the means 1. and 'greed on, for my happiness. Proteus, go with me to my chamber,

affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

.. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth: st unto the road, to disembark

:ecessaries that I needs must use; then I'll presently attend you. Will you make haste!

I will.

as one heat another heat expels,

[Exit VAL.

s one nail by strength drives out another, e remembrance of my former love ya newer object quite forgotten. raine eye, or Valentinus praise,

= true perfection, or my false transgression, at makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? = fair; and so is Julia, that I love: at I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; ch, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, ars no impression of the thing it was. thanks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;

that I love him not, as I was wont: but I love his lady too, too much; i that's the reason I love him so little. shall I dote on her with more advice, hat thus without advice begin to love her? but her picture I have yet beheld, ad that bath dazzled my reason's light; at when I look on her perfections, tre is no reason but I'shall be blind. caa check my erring love, I will; not, to compass her I'll use my skill.

[Exit.

SCENE V.- The same. A street. Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Mian. Larin. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for not welcome. I reckon this always-that a mas never undone, till he be hanged; nor never wime to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say welcome.

Spre Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of -pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. Psirrah, how did thy master part with madam Jia?

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Laun. No.

Lain. What a block art thou, that thou canst Bo! My staff understands me.

Speed What thou say'st?

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 bade me swear, and love bids me forswear:
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;
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 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!
Shows 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 used to Valentine:-
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor:
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and 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,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! Exit.
SCENE VII.-Verona. A room in 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,-

one.

How, with my honor, 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,
Of such divine perfection, 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 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 rage,
Confederate.

a Tempting.

• Intended.

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns;
The current, that with gentle murmur gli es,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, unpatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet music with the enamel'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 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 show 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 with a cod: piece, madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favor'd. 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 Proteus 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 as infinite 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 lov'st me, do him not that

Palace.

Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis

cover,

The law of friendship bids me to conceal :
But, when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me, undeserving as I am,

My duty pricks me on to utter that

Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather choose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Thun, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep;
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,"
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
1 Guess.

• Trouble

Tempted.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently; Where, if it please you, you may intercept hini. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. (Exit.

Enter VALENTINE.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then, no matter; stay with me awhile; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.

Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honorable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, for ward,

Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
Guessed.
Design
Longed for.