;

Her true perfection, or my falfe tranfgreffion,
That makes me, reafonlefs, to reason thus?
She's fair, and fo is Julia, that I love;
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impreffion of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold
And that I love him not, as I was wont.
O! but I love his lady too, too, much;
And that's the reafon, I love him fo little.
How fhalldoat on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazled fo my reason's light:
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reafon, but I fhall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compafs her I'll ufe my skill.

SCENE changes to a Street.

Enter Speed and Launce.

[Exit.

Speed. L4UNCE, by mine honefty, welcome to

Milan.

Laun. Forfwear not thy felf, fweet youth; for I am not welcome: I reckon this always, that a man is never undone, 'till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to a place, till fome certain fhot be paid, and the hoftefs fay, welcome.

Is it mine, or Valentino's Praise.

The Verfe halts fo, that fome one Syllable must be wanting; and that Mr. Warburton has very ingeniously, and, as I think, with Certainty fupply'd, as I have reflor'd in the Text. Proteus had just seen Valentine's Miftreis; Valentine had prais'd her fo lavishly, that the Defcription heighten'd Proteus's Sentiments of her from the Interview; fo that it was the lefs Wonder that he should not know certainly, at first, which made the ftrongeft Impreffion, Valentine's Praises, or his own View of the Original.

It is Padua in the former editions. See the note on Act 3

Mr. Pope.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap; I'll to the ale-house with you presently, where, for one shot of five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, Sirrah, how did thy mafter part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jeft.

Speed. But fhall fhe marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? fhall he marry her?

Laun. No, neither.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish: Speed. Why then how stands the matter with them? Laun. Marry, thus: when it ftands well with him, it ftands well with her..

Speed. What an afs art thou? I understand thee not. Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not? My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou fay'ft?

Laun. Ay, and what I do too? look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me.

Speed. It stands under thee indeed.

Laun. Why, ftand-under, and understand, is all one.. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match?

Laun. Ask my dog: if he fay, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will, if he thake his tail, and fay nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclufion is then, that it will.

Laun. Thou shalt never get fuch a secret from me, but by a parable.

Speed. 'Tis well, that I get it fo; but, Launce, how fay'ft thou, that my mafter is become a notable lover? Laun. I never knew him otherwise.

Speed. Than how?

Laun. A notable Lubber, as thou reporteft him to be.

Speed. Why, thou whorfon ass, thou mistak'ft me. Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

Laun.

Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not tho' he burn. himself in love: If thou wilt go with me to the alehouse, fo; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.

Speed. Why?

Laun. Because thou haft not fo much charity in thee, as to go to the ale-houfe with a Chriftian: wilt thou go?

Speed. At thy fervice,

Enter Protheus folus.

[Exeunt,

Pro. To leave my Julia, fhall I be forfworn; To love fair Silvia, fhall I be forfworn;

To wrong my friend, I fhall be much forfworn:
And ev❜n that pow'r, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.

Love bad me fwear, and love bids me forfwear:
O fweet-fuggefting love! if thou haft finn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted fubject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling ftar,
But now I worship a celestial fun.

Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit that wants refolved will,
To learn his wit t'exchange the bad for better,
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whole Sov'raignty fo oft thou haft preferr'd
With twenty thousand foul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do :

But there I leave to love, where I fhould love:
Julia I lofe, and Valentine I lose :

If I keep them, I needs muft lofe my felf:
If I lose them, this find I by their lofs,
For Valentine, my felf; for Julia, Silvia:
I to my felf am dearer than a friend;
For love is ftill most precious in its felf:
And Silvia, (witness heav'n, that made her fair!)
Shews Julia but a fwarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,

Remembring that my love to her is dead:

And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,

N 3

Aiming

Aiming at Silvia as a fweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to my self,
Without fome treachery us'd to Valentine:
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celeftial Silvia's chamber-window;
My felf in counsel his competitor.

Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their difguifing, and pretended flight;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine:
For Thurio, he intends, fhall wed his daughter.
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By fome fly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou haft lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit.

SCENE changes to Julia's House in Verona.

Enter Julia and Lucetta.

Ful. Counfel, Lucetta; gentle girl, affift me;

And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,

Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,
To leffon me; and tell me fome good mean,
How with my honour I may undertake
A journey to my loving Protheus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearifome and long.
Ful. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less fhall The, that hath love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of fuch divine perfection as Sir Protheus.

Luc. Better forbear, 'till Protheus make return.
Jul. Oh, know'st thou not, his looks are my foul's

food?

Pity the dearth, that I have pined in,
By longing for that food fo long a time.
Didft thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would't as foon go kindle fire with fnow,
As feek to quench the fire of love with words.

Luc.

Luc. I do not feek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualifie the fire's extream rage,

Left it fhould burn above the bounds of reafon.

Jul. The more thou damm'ft it up, the more it

burns:

The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'ft, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair courfe is not hindered,

He makes fweet mufick with th' enamel'd ftones;
Giving a gentle kifs to every fedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage:

And fo by many winding nooks he ftrays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
I'll be as patient as a gentle ftream,
And make a paftime of each weary step,
'Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll reft, as, after much turmoil,
A bleffed foul doth in Elyfium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lafcivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with fuch weeds
As may befeem fome well-reputed page.

Luc. Why then your ladyship muft cut your hair.
Jul. No, girl, I'll knit it up in filken ftrings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love-knots:
To be fantastick, may become a youth

Of greater time than I fhall fhew to be.

Luc. What fashion, Madam,fhall I make your breeches?
Jul. That fits as well, as" tell me, good my
lord,

"What compass will you wear your farthingale?
Why, even what fashion thou beft like'ft, Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece,
Madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hofe, Madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.