And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing left my jealous aim might err,
And fo, unworthily, difgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have fhunn'd,)
gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself haft now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is foon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence the cannot be convey'd

I

away.
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean

How he her chamber-window will afcend,
And with a corded ladded 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 him.
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 honour, he shall never know

That I had any light from thee of this.

Pro. Adieu, my lord; fir 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?

D 3

Val.

Val. The tenor of them both but fignify

My health, and happy being at your court.

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while;
I am to break with thee of fome affairs,

That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have fought
To match my friend, fir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and, fure, the match
Were rich and honourable; befides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Befeening fuch a wife as your fair daughter :
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke. No, truft me; the is peevish, fullen, froward,
Proud, difobedient, ftubborn, 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
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full refolv'd to take a wife,

And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my poffeffions the esteems not.

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this?
Duke. There is a lady, fir, in Milan, here,
Whom I affect; but fhe is nice, and coy,
And nought efteems my aged eloquence:
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court;
Befides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;

Dumb

Dumb jewels often, in their filent kind,

More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

Val. A woman fometime scorns what best contents her: Send her another; never give her o'er ;

For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If fhe do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,

But rather to beget more love in you:
If the do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever the doth fay;
For, get you gone, fhe doth not mean, away:
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er fo black, fay, they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I fay, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke. But the I mean, is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,

That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would refort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe,

That no man hath recourse to her by night.

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; And built fo fhelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords,

To caft up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to fcale another Hero's tower,

So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have fuch a ladder.

Val. When would you ufe it? pray, fir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By feven o'clock I'll get you

fuch a

ladder.

Duke. But hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I beft convey the ladder thither?

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak, that is of any length.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will ferve the turn ?
Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me fee thy cloak;

I'll get me one of fuch another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will ferve the turn, my lord.
Duke. How fhall I fashion me to wear a cloak?—
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me,-
What letter is this fame? What's here ?—To Silvia?
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be fo bold to break the feal for once.
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And flaves they are to me, that fend them flying :
O, could their mefter come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where fenfelefs they are lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bofom reft them;

[reads.

While I, their king, that thither them impórtune,
Do curfe the grace that with fuch grace hath bless'd them,
Because myfelf do want my fervants' fortune :

I curfe myself, for they are fent by me,

That they should harbour where their lord should be.
What's here?

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee :

'Tis fo; and here's the ladder for the purpose.—
Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' fon,)
Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?

Wilt thou reach ftars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!
Beftow thy fawning fmiles on equal mates;

And think, my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have beftow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,

Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath fhall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,

But, as thou lov'ft thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit DUKE.
Val. And why not death, rather than living torment ?
To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is felf from felf; a deadly bánishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon :
She is my effence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence

Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom :
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

3

Enter