Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry "baa." Pro. But, dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to Julia? Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray, 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake: I mean the pound, the pinfold. Speed. From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she? did she nod? [SPEED nods. Pro. Nod, I? why that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir: I say she did nod, and you ask me, if she did nod? and Í say I. Pro. And that set together, is noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. said she? Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once deliver'd. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said No, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter; According to my shallow simple skill. Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercutio? Should censure thus a loving gentleman. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason: Proteus. He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, Luc. Speed. No, not so much as "take this for thy pains." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. [Exit. What would your ladyship? [Drops the letter, and takes it up again. Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then? That I let fall. Jul. Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear He couples it to his complaining name. Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go. Luc. What! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? 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. Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then. Luc. I cannot reach so high. Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: 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. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him? Pant. He wonder'd, that your lordship 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! And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! 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; But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down: Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, T I have found each letter in the letter, And perfected by the swift course of time. Pant. "Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither. 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, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to salute the emperor, And to commend their service to his will. Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: And, in good time,-now will we break with him. Enter PROTEUS, not seeing his Father. Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; [Kissing a letter. Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. Ant. How now! what letter are you reading there? Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, [Putting it up. Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Ant. Lend me the letter: let me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd, And daily graced by the emperor; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 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, Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided: Please you, deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee: No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO. Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love; | And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, Hath he excepted most against my love. O! how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away. Re-enter PANTHINO. Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you: He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. Pro. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto, And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt. ACT II. Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you have learn'd, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, like a mal-content; to relish a love song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that hath the pestilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that hath lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that hath buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money; and now you are so metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. 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? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? Val. What dost thou know? 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 see her beautiful. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Speed. Because love is blind. O! that you had 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. Fal 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 Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her. manners. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. Speed. O! 'give ye good even: here's a million of [Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it him. 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. Nav, 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. And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so. Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour: And so good-morrow, servant. [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. Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. Val. I would it were no worse! I'll warrant you, 'tis as well: For often have you 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, Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover. All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.— Val. I have dined. 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. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. Pro. Why then, we'll make exchange: here, take you this. [Exchange rings. Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'er-slips 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 thy 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. Val. So do you. 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? 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. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of cameleon. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. 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. 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. 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 The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? 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: |