Jul. Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear He couples it to his complaining name. Luc. What! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? To take a paper up Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. And is that paper nothing? Luc. Nothing concerning me. Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let's see your song.-[Snatching the letter.] How now, minion! Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Jul. You do not? Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Jul. I see, you have a month's mind unto them. Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO. [Exeunt. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Pant. any, or for all these exercises, Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that I have consider'd well his loss of time, [Tears the letter, and throws it down. Experience is by industry achiev'd, Go; get you gone, and let the papers lie: Luc. She makes it strange, but she would be pleas'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! Look, here is writ-kind Julia;"-unkind Julia! I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd; Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, Till I have found each letter in the letter, And perfected by the swift course of time. Ant. I know it well. Pant. "Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel: well hast thou advis'd; And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known. Even with the speediest expedition I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, Are journeying to salute the emperor, Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: [Kissing a letter. Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. Ant. How now! what letter are you reading there? Ant. Lend me the letter: let me see what news. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish. What maintenance he from his friends receives, Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided: Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee: [Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO. The uncertain glory of an April day, Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you: ACT II. SCENE I.-Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace, Speed. Sir, your glove. one. Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine.— Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Ah Silvia! Silvia! 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. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Val. Are all these things perceived in me? Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain; for, without you were so simple, none else would be: 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? Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) wellfavour'd. 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 esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. I Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. you had Speed. Because love is blind. O! that 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; for 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, so your affection would 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 my duty to your ladyship. [Giving a paper. 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 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 ;-and yet I care not;And yet take this again;—and yet I thank you, Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet. [Aside. 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 you. [Giving it back. 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. [Exit. Speed. 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, to himself should write the letter? 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. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest? Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. an end. Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd 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. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. Enter PANTHINO. 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-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 show 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 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, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wild 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 weep'st 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. Pant. What's the unkindest tide? Launce. Why, he that's tied 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? Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pant. In thy tail? Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I that I am not? Thu. What instance of the contrary? Thu. And how quote you my folly? Val. Well, then, 'twill double your folly. Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour? 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. Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and 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. Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 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. SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the DUKE's Palace. 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 the 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 wealth, 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 Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, 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 'cite him to it. [Exit DUKE. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Upon some other pawn for fealty. 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 you out? 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. Enter PROTEUS. Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman. [Exit THURIO. Val. Welcome, dear Proteus !-Mistress, I beseech you, Confirm his 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 mistress. Val. Leave off discourse of disability.- Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. That you are worthless. Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: come, sir Thurio, [Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. 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 high imperious thoughts have punish'd me Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. 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 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. Val. Sweet, except not any, Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 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 mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight [Exit VALENTINE. Even as one heat another heat expels, Is it mine own, or Valentino's praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, |