Re-enter PANTHINO. Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; 9 is in has e, 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. SCENE 1.-Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter VALENTINE and SPFED. Speed. Sir, your glove. Val. Not mine: my gloves are on. Val. Ha! let me see : ay give it me, it's mine:- Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia ! Val. How now, sirrah? Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia ? Speed. She that your worship loves! Vel. Why, how know you that I am in love? Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard favored, sir? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favored. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favor 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 esteemest thou me! I account of her beauty. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your own 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 iast 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 cease. Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you? Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them :Peace, here she comes. Enter SILVIA. Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! now will he interpret to her. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. Speed. O, give you good even! here's a million of manners. [Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him. [Aside. 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. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant, 'tis very clerkly♦ done. Val. Now, trust me, madam, it came hardly off; Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 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 Si!. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ, Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request. Speed. You never saw her since she was de- And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. formed. Val. How long hath she been deformed? Speed. Ever since you loved her. Val. I have loved her ver since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful. • Under a regimen. Allhallowmas. Val. If it please me, madam! what then? a Whipped. Like a scholar. A puppet-show. 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? Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself! Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason. Val. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Val. To whom? Speed. To yourself: why, she woos you by a figure! Val. What figure? 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. Speel. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did you perceive her earnest ? Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speet. Why, she hath given you a letter. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end. Val. I would it were no worse. Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well. For often you have 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, Herself 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. Speel. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished 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. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner: Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here take you this. Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'erslips 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 the 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. a no 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 pebblestone, and has no more pity in him than a dog Jew would have wept to have seen our patting; 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; 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, (0, that she could speak now!) like a woods 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 weepest thou, man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost: for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide? Laun. Why, he that's ty'd 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. Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Laun. In thy tale. Pant. In thy tail? Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? 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. Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pant. Wilt thou go? Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. Thu. Seem you that you are not? Val. Haply, I do. Thu. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I that I am not? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quote you my folly? Val. I quote it in your jerkin. Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? Si!. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change color? Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, | To be my fellow servant to your ladyship. than live in your air. Vat. 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. Sil. Who is that, servant? 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 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 worth, 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 honor and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? Val. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy We have conversed and spent our hours together; And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time, To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection; Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days; His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellow'd, bat his judgment ripe; And, in a word, (for far behind his worth Come all the praises that I now bestow,) He is complete in feature, and in mind," With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love, As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me, With commendation from great potentates; And here he means to spend his time awhile; 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 'cites him to it : I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit DUKE. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty. Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servan To have a look of such a worthy mistress. sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Val. Leave off discourse of disability: Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed; Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress, Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome? Pro. No; that you are worth Val. And how do yours? Pro. I left them all in health Val. How does your lady? and how thrives you 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 altered now: I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthrall'd eyes, For. in revenge of my contempt of love, And made them watchers of mine own heart's so row. O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord; Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eyɛ Was this the idol that you worship so? Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint Pro. Val. Then speak the truth by her, if not divine Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Sweet, except not any 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 init Ay, and we are betroth'd; more, our marriage hour, Lid the cunning manner of our flight, nind of: how I must climb her window; adder made of cords; and all the means 1. and 'greed on, for my happiness. Proteus, go with me to my chamber, affairs to aid me with thy counsel. .. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth: st unto the road, to disembark :ecessaries that I needs must use; then I'll presently attend you. Will you make haste! I will. as one heat another heat expels, [Exit VAL. s one nail by strength drives out another, e remembrance of my former love ya newer object quite forgotten. raine eye, or Valentinus praise, = true perfection, or my false transgression, at makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? = fair; and so is Julia, that I love: at I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; ch, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, ars no impression of the thing it was. thanks, my zeal to Valentine is cold; that I love him not, as I was wont: but I love his lady too, too much; i that's the reason I love him so little. shall I dote on her with more advice, hat thus without advice begin to love her? but her picture I have yet beheld, ad that bath dazzled my reason's light; at when I look on her perfections, tre is no reason but I'shall be blind. caa check my erring love, I will; not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit. SCENE V.- The same. A street. Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Mian. Larin. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for not welcome. I reckon this always-that a mas never undone, till he be hanged; nor never wime to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say welcome. Spre Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of -pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. Psirrah, how did thy master part with madam Jia? Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him? Laun. No. Lain. What a block art thou, that thou canst Bo! My staff understands me. Speed What thou say'st? Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear: If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me! Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll To lesson me; and tell me some good mean, bat lean, and my staf understands me. one. How, with my honor, I may undertake Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O, know 'st thou not, his looks are my soul's. food? Pity the dearth that I have pined in, a Tempting. • Intended. Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, And so by many winding nooks he strays, Then let me go, and hinder not my course: Luc. But in what habit will you go along? Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? Jul. That fits as well, as-"tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a cod: piece, madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favor'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, For undertaking so unstaid a journey? I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men that use them to so base effect! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him! Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that ACT III. SCENE I.- Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's | And thence she cannot be convey'd away. Palace. Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about. [Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis cover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal : My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. • Trouble Tempted. Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber window will ascend, And with a corded ladder 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 hini. 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 honor, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir 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? Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then, no matter; stay with me awhile; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honorable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, for ward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; |