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My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,

And saves they are to me, that send them flying : Oh, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying : My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom reft them,

While I, their King, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace, that with such grace hath bleft them,

Because my self do want my servant's fortune :
I curse my self, for they are sent by me;
That they should barbour, where their lord would be.

What's here? Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee :
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaëton, for thou art Merops' son,
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heav'nly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening Nave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles 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 bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories.
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal Court,
By heav'n, my wrath shall far exceed the love,
I ever bore my daughter or thy self:
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit.

Val. And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from my self,
And Silvia is my self; banish'd from her,
Is self from self: a deadly banishment !
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 perfećtion.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no musick in the nightingale ;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,

There

There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin’d, cherith’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. .

Enter Protheus and Launce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho! so-ho!
Pro. What seest thou?

Laun. Him we go to find:
There's not an hair

on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Valentine,
Val. No.
Pro. Who then; his spirit?
Val. Neither. -
Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing
[ Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I ftrike?

Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike?
Laun. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear.
Laun. Why, Sir,'I'll strike nothing; I pray you, —
Pro. I say, forbear : friend Valentine, a word.

Val. My cars are stopt, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath posseft them.

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine;
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val Is Silvia dead?
Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !
Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are

yanish'd. Pre. That thou art banish'd; oh, that is the news,

From

From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

Val. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already; And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doch Silvia know that I am banished ?

Pro. Ay, ay; and the hath offer'd to the doom, Which unrevers'd stands in effectual force, A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet the tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for wo. But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad lighs, deep groans, nor silver-thedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate Sire; But Valentine, if he be ta’en, must die. Besides, her interceffion chaf'd him fo, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there.

Val. No more ; unless the next word, that thou speak'st, Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good : Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that; And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, tho' thou art hence, Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Ev’n in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate ; Come, l'll convey thee through the city-gate; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love-affairs : As thou lov'st Silvia, tho' not for thy self, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou feeft my boy,

Bid

Bid him make haste, and mect me at the north-gate.

Pro. Go, Sirrah, find him out: come, Valentine.
Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine !

[Exeunt Val. and Pro. Laun. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave: but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love; but a Team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman ; but what woman I will not tell my self; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid and serves for wages: she hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare christian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions ; imprimis, she can fetch and carry; why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is the better than a jade. Item, she can milk ; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed. Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with your mastership?

Laun. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. (12) Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word: whát news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'ft. Speed. Why, man, how black ? Laun. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. (12) With my Mastership? why, it is at Sea] These poetical Editors are pleasant Gentlemen to let this pass without any Suspicion. For how does Launce mistake the Word ? Speed asks him about his Masterfhip, and he replies to it litteratìm. But then how was his Mastership at Sea, and on Shore too? The Addition of a Letter and a Note of Apostrophe make Launce both mistake the Word, and sets the Pun right: It reftores, indeed, but a mean Joke; but, without it, there is no Senlein the Passage. Besides, it is in Character with the rest of the Scene ; and I dare be confident, the Poet's own Conceit.

Laun,

Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou can'st not read.
Speed. Thou lyeft, I can.
Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the son of my grand-father.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy grand-mother; this proves, that thou canst not read.

Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper.
Laun. There, and S. Nicholas be thy speed!
Speed. Imprimis, she can milk.
Laun. Ay, that she can.
Speed. Item, the brews good ale.

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, Blefing of yout beart, you brew good ale:

Speed. Item, she can sowe.
Laun. That's as much as to say, can the so?
Speed. Item, she can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock !

Speed. Item, she can wash and scour.

Laun. A special virtue, for then the need not to be wath'd and scour'd. { Speed: Item, she can spin.

Laur. Then may I set the world on wheels; when she can spin for her living.

Speed. Item, she hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to say, Bastard Virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have

Speed. Here follow her vices.
Laun. Close at the heels of her virtueś.

Speed. Item, she is not to be kist fasting, in respect of her breach.

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast : read on.

Speed. Item, she hath a sweet mouth.
Laun. That makes amends for her four breath.
Speed. Item, she doth talk in her sleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, so the deep not in her talk.

Specd. Item, she is flow in words.
Vol. I.

Lau:

no names.

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