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Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus.
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were ’t not affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honored love,
55I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lov’st, love still and thrive therein,
1010Even as I would when I to love begin.
Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu.
Think on thy Proteus when thou haply seest
Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.
Wish me partaker in thy happiness
1515When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.
And on a love-book pray for my success?
2020Upon some book I love I’ll pray for thee.
That’s on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander crossed the Hellespont.
That’s a deep story of a deeper love,
For he was more than over shoes in love.
2525’Tis true, for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont.
Over the boots? Nay, give me not the boots.
No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
What?
3030To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans,
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading
moment’s mirth
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
3535If lost, why then a grievous labor won;
How ever, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquishèd.
So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
So, by your circumstance, I fear you’ll prove.
4040’Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.
Love is your master, for he masters you;
And he that is so yokèd by a fool
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.
Yet writers say: as in the sweetest bud
4545The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
And writers say: as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit
5050Is turned to folly, blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure, even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee
That art a votary to fond desire?
5555Once more adieu. My father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipped.
And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Sweet Proteus, no. Now let us take our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
6060Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend.
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
All happiness bechance to thee in Milan.
As much to you at home. And so farewell.
6565He after honor hunts, I after love.
He leaves his friends, to dignify them more;
I leave myself, my friends, and all, for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
7070War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
Sir Proteus, ’save you. Saw you my master?
But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.
Twenty to one, then, he is shipped already,
7575And I have played the sheep in losing him.
Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be awhile away.
You conclude that my master is a shepherd,
then, and I a sheep?
8080I do.
Why, then my horns are his horns, whether I
wake or sleep.
A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
This proves me still a sheep.
8585True, and thy master a shepherd.
Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
It shall go hard but I’ll prove it by another.
The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the
sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my
9090master seeks not me. Therefore I am no sheep.
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.
9595Such another proof will make me cry “baa.”
But dost thou hear? Gav’st thou my letter to
Julia?
Ay, sir. I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a
laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
100100lost mutton, nothing for my labor.
Here’s too small a pasture for such store of
muttons.
If the ground be overcharged, you were best
stick her.
105105Nay, in that you are astray; ’twere best pound
you.
Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
carrying your letter.
You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold.
110110From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,
’Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your
lover.
But what said she?
Ay.
115115Nod—“Ay.” Why, that’s “noddy.”
You mistook, sir. I say she did nod, and you ask
me if she did nod, and I say “ay.”
And that set together is “noddy.”
Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
120120take it for your pains.
No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter.
Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.
Why, sir, how do you bear with me?
Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly, having nothing
125125but the word “noddy” for my pains.
Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
Come, come, open the matter in brief. What
said she?
130130Open your purse, that the money and the matter
may be both at once delivered.
Well, sir, here is for your
pains. What said she?
Truly, sir, I think you’ll
135135hardly win her.
Why? Couldst thou perceive so much from
her?
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her, no,
not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter.
140140And being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
fear she’ll prove as hard to you in telling your mind.
Give her no token but stones, for she’s as hard as
steel.
What said she? Nothing?
145145No, not so much as “Take this for thy pains.”
To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have
testerned me. In requital whereof, henceforth
carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I’ll commend
you to my master.
150150Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wrack,
Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore.
Speed exits.
I must go send some better messenger.
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
155155Receiving them from such a worthless post.
But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.
Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
5160That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
Please you repeat their names, I’ll show my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.
What think’st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
10165As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;
But, were I you, he never should be mine.
What think’st thou of the rich Mercatio?
Well of his wealth, but of himself so-so.
What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus?
15170Lord, Lord, to see what folly reigns in us!
How now? What means this passion at his name?
Pardon, dear madam, ’tis a passing shame
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
20175Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
Then thus: of many good, I think him best.
Your reason?
I have no other but a woman’s reason:
I think him so because I think him so.
25180And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?
Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
Why, he of all the rest hath never moved me.
Yet he of all the rest I think best loves you.
His little speaking shows his love but small.
30185Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.
They do not love that do not show their love.
O, they love least that let men know their love.
I would I knew his mind.
Peruse this paper,
35190madam.
“To Julia.”—Say from whom.
That the contents will show.
Say, say who gave it thee.
Sir Valentine’s page; and sent, I think, from
40195Proteus.
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it. Pardon the fault, I pray.
Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines?
45200To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now trust me, ’tis an office of great worth,
And you an officer fit for the place.
There, take the paper; see it be returned,
Or else return no more into my sight.
50205To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
Will you be gone?
That you may ruminate.
She exits.
And yet I would I had o’erlooked the letter.
It were a shame to call her back again
55210And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
What fool is she that knows I am a maid
And would not force the letter to my view,
Since maids in modesty say “no” to that
Which they would have the profferer construe “ay”!
60215Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love
That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
65220How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!
My penance is to call Lucetta back
And ask remission for my folly past.—
What ho, Lucetta!
70225What would your Ladyship?
Is ’t near dinner time?
I would it were,
That you might kill your stomach on your meat
And not upon your maid.
75230What is ’t that you took up so gingerly?
Nothing.
Why didst thou stoop, then?
To take a paper up that I let fall.
And is that paper nothing?
80235Nothing concerning me.
Then let it lie for those that it concerns.
Madam, it will not lie where it concerns
Unless it have a false interpreter.
Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
85240That I might sing it, madam, to a tune,
Give me a note. Your Ladyship can set—
As little by such toys as may be possible.
Best sing it to the tune of
It is too heavy for so light a tune.
90245Heavy? Belike it hath some burden then?
Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.
And why not you?
I cannot reach so high.
Let’s see your song. How now, minion!
95250Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.
And yet methinks I do not like this tune.
You do not?
No, madam, ’tis too sharp.
You, minion, are too saucy.
100255Nay, now you are too flat
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant.
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.
The mean is drowned with your unruly bass.
Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.
105260This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation.
She rips up the paper. Lucetta begins
to pick up the pieces.
Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie.
You would be fing’ring them to anger me.
She makes it strange, but she would be best pleased
110265To be so angered with another letter.
Nay, would I were so angered with the same!
O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!
115270I’ll kiss each several paper for amends.
She picks up some pieces.
Look, here is writ “kind Julia.” Unkind Julia,
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
120275And here is writ “love-wounded Proteus.”
Poor wounded name, my bosom as a bed
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly healed,
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
But twice or thrice was “Proteus” written down.
125280Be calm, good wind. Blow not a word away
Till I have found each letter in the letter
Except mine own name. That some whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock
And throw it thence into the raging sea.
130285Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:
“Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
To the sweet Julia.” That I’ll tear away—
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names.
135290Thus will I fold them one upon another.
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Madam, dinner is ready, and your father stays.
Well, let us go.
What, shall these papers lie like telltales here?
140295If you respect them, best to take them up.
Nay, I was taken up for laying them down.
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
I see you have a month’s mind to them.
Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
145300I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Come, come, will ’t please you go?
They exit.
Tell me, Pantino, what sad talk was that
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
’Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
305Why, what of him?
5He wondered that your Lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home
While other men, of slender reputation,
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
310Some to the wars to try their fortune there,
10Some to discover islands far away,
Some to the studious universities.
For any or for all these exercises
He said that Proteus your son was meet,
315And did request me to importune you
15To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age
In having known no travel in his youth.
Nor need’st thou much importune me to that
320Whereon this month I have been hammering.
20I have considered well his loss of time
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being tried and tutored in the world.
Experience is by industry achieved
325And perfected by the swift course of time.
25Then tell me whither were I best to send him.
I think your Lordship is not ignorant
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the Emperor in his royal court.
330I know it well.
30’Twere good, I think, your Lordship sent him thither.
There shall he practice tilts and tournaments,
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,
And be in eye of every exercise
335Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
35I like thy counsel. Well hast thou advised,
And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,
The execution of it shall make known.
Even with the speediest expedition
340I will dispatch him to the Emperor’s court.
40Tomorrow, 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.
345Good company. With them shall Proteus go.
Enter Proteus reading.
45And in good time! Now will we break with him.
Sweet love, sweet lines, sweet life!
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
Here is her oath for love, her honor’s pawn.
350O, that our fathers would applaud our loves
50To seal our happiness with their consents.
O heavenly Julia!
How now? What letter are you reading there?
May ’t please your Lordship, ’tis a word or two
355Of commendations sent from Valentine,
55Delivered by a friend that came from him.
Lend me the letter. Let me see what news.
There is no news, my lord, but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well beloved
360And daily gracèd by the Emperor,
60Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.
And how stand you affected to his wish?
As one relying on your Lordship’s will,
And not depending on his friendly wish.
365My will is something sorted with his wish.
65Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed,
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentinus in the Emperor’s court.
370What maintenance he from his friends receives,
70Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.
Tomorrow be in readiness to go.
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
My lord, I cannot be so soon provided.
375Please you deliberate a day or two.
75Look what thou want’st shall be sent after thee.
No more of stay. Tomorrow thou must go.—
Come on, Pantino; you shall be employed
To hasten on his expedition.
380Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning
80And drenched me in the sea, where I am drowned.
I feared to show my father Julia’s letter
Lest he should take exceptions to my love,
And with the vantage of mine own excuse
385Hath he excepted most against my love.
85O, 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.
390Sir Proteus, your father calls for you.
90He is in haste. Therefore, I pray you, go.
Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto.
Aside. And yet a thousand times it answers “no.”
Sir, your glove.
395Not mine. My gloves are on.
Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.
Ha? Let me see. Ay, give it me, it’s mine.
5Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah, Sylvia, Sylvia!
400Madam Sylvia! Madam Sylvia!
How now, sirrah?
She is not within hearing, sir.
10Why, sir, who bade you call her?
Your Worship, sir, or else I mistook.
405Well, you’ll still be too forward.
And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.
Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know Madam
15Sylvia?
She that your Worship loves?
410Why, how know you that I am in love?
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms like
20a malcontent; to relish a love song like a robin
redbreast; to walk alone like one that had the
415pestilence; to sigh like a schoolboy that had lost his
ABC; to weep like a young wench that had buried
her grandam; to fast like one that takes diet; to
25watch like one that fears robbing; to speak puling
like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when
420you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked,
to walk like one of the lions. When you fasted, it was
presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it
30was for want of money. And now you are metamorphosed
with a mistress, that when I look on you, I
425can hardly think you my master.
Are all these things perceived in me?
They are all perceived without you.
35Without me? They cannot.
Without you? Nay, that’s certain, for without
430you were so simple, none else would. But you are so
without these follies, that these follies are within
you and shine through you like the water in an
40urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a
physician to comment on your malady.
435But tell me, dost thou know my Lady
Sylvia?
She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper?
45Hast thou observed that? Even she I mean.
Why, sir, I know her not.
440Dost thou know her by my gazing on her
and yet know’st her not?
Is she not hard-favored, sir?
50Not so fair, boy, as well-favored.
Sir, I know that well enough.
445What dost thou know?
That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favored.
I mean that her beauty is exquisite but her
55favor infinite.
That’s because the one is painted, and the other
450out of all count.
How painted? And how out of count?
Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no
60man counts of her beauty.
How esteem’st thou me? I account of her
455beauty.
You never saw her since she was deformed.
How long hath she been deformed?
65Ever since you loved her.
I have loved her ever since I saw her, and
460still I see her beautiful.
If you love her, you cannot see her.
Why?
70Because love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes,
or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to
465have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going
ungartered!
What should I see then?
75Your own present folly and her passing deformity;
for he, being in love, could not see to garter his
470hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on
your hose.
Belike, boy, then you are in love, for last
80morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
True, sir, I was in love with my bed. I thank you,
475you swinged me for my love, which makes me the
bolder to chide you for yours.
In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
85I would you were set, so your affection would
cease.
480Last night she enjoined me to write some
lines to one she loves.
And have you?
90I have.
Are they not lamely writ?
485No, boy, but as well as I can do them.
Peace, here she comes.
O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
95Now will he interpret to her.
Madam and mistress, a thousand
490good-morrows.
O, give ye good ev’n! Here’s a million of
manners.
100Sir Valentine, and servant, to you two
thousand.
495He should give her interest, and she
gives it him.
As you enjoined me, I have writ your letter
105Unto the secret, nameless friend of yours,
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in
500But for my duty to your Ladyship.
I thank you, gentle servant, ’tis very clerkly done.
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off,
110For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
505Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
No, madam. So it stead you, I will write,
Please you command, a thousand times as much,
115And yet—
A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel;
510And yet I will not name it And yet I care not.
And yet take this again.She holds out the paper.
And yet I thank you,
120Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
And yet you will; and yet another “yet.”
515What means your Ladyship? Do you not like it?
Yes, yes, the lines are very quaintly writ,
But, since unwillingly, take them again.
125Nay, take them.
Madam, they are for you.
520Ay, 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.
130Please you, I’ll write your Ladyship another.
And when it’s writ, for my sake read it over,
525And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
If it please me, madam? What then?
Why, if it please you, take it for your labor.
135And so good-morrow, servant.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible
530As a nose on a man’s face, or a weathercock on a
steeple!
My master sues to her, and she hath taught her
140suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
535O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better?
That my master, being scribe, to himself should
write the letter?
145How now, sir? What, are you reasoning
with yourself?
540Nay, I was rhyming. ’Tis you that have the
reason.
To do what?
150To be a spokesman from Madam Sylvia.
To whom?
545To yourself. Why, she woos you by a figure.
What figure?
By a letter, I should say.
155Why, she hath not writ to me!
What need she when she hath made you write
550to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?
No, believe me.
No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive
160her earnest?
She gave me none, except an angry word.
555Why, she hath given you a letter.
That’s the letter I writ to her friend.
And that letter hath she delivered, and there an
165end.
I would it were no worse.
560I’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,
170Or fearing else some messenger that might her
mind discover,
565Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto
her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why
175muse you, sir? ’Tis dinnertime.
I have dined.
570Ay, 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
180your mistress! Be moved, be moved.
Have patience, gentle Julia.
575I must where is no remedy.
When possibly I can, I will return.
If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
5Keep this remembrance for thy Julia’s sake.
Why, then we’ll make exchange. Here, take you this.
580And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Here is my hand for my true constancy.
And when that hour o’erslips me in the day
10Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
585Torment me for my love’s forgetfulness.
My father stays my coming. Answer not.
The tide is now—nay, not thy tide of tears;
15That tide will stay me longer than I should.
Julia, farewell.Julia exits.
590What, gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do. It cannot speak,
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
20Sir Proteus, you are stayed for.
Go. I come, I come.
595Aside. Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
Nay,’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping.
All the kind of the Lances have this very fault. I have
received my proportion like the Prodigious Son and
am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s court. I
5600think Crab my dog be the sourest-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
10605is a stone, a very pibble 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. He takes off his
shoes. 15610This 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
20615’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. O, the dog is me, and I
am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to my father:
25620“Father, your blessing.” Now should not the shoe
speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my
father. He kisses one shoe. Well, he weeps on. Now
come I to my mother. O, that she could speak now
like a wold woman! Well, I kiss her. He kisses the
other shoe. 30625Why, 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.
35630Lance, 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.
It is no matter if the tied were lost, for it is the
40635unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
What’s the unkindest tide?
Why, he that’s tied here, Crab my dog.
Tut, man. I mean thou ’lt lose the flood and, in
losing the flood, lose thy voyage and, in losing thy
45640voyage, lose thy master and, in losing thy master,
lose thy service and, in losing thy service—Lance
covers Pantino’s mouth. Why dost thou stop my
mouth?
For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
50645Where should I lose my tongue?
In thy tale.
In thy tail!
Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master,
and the service, and the tied. Why, man, if the river
55650were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the
wind were down, I could drive the boat with my
sighs.
Come. Come away, man. I was sent to call
thee.
60655Sir, call me what thou dar’st.
Wilt thou go?
Well, I will go.
They exit.Servant!
Mistress?
660Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Ay, boy, it’s for love.
5Not of you.
Of my mistress, then.
’Twere good you knocked him.
665Servant, you are sad.
Indeed, madam, I seem so.
10Seem you that you are not?
Haply I do.
So do counterfeits.
670So do you.
What seem I that I am not?
15Wise.
What instance of the contrary?
Your folly.
675And how quote you my folly?
I quote it in your jerkin.
20My “jerkin” is a doublet.
Well, then, I’ll double your folly.
How!
680What, angry, Sir Thurio? Do you change color?
Give him leave, madam. He is a kind of
25chameleon.
That hath more mind to feed on your blood
than live in your air.
685You have said, sir.
Ay, sir, and done too for this time.
30I know it well, sir. You always end ere you
begin.
A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly
690shot off.
’Tis indeed, madam. We thank the giver.
35Who is that, servant?
Yourself, sweet lady, for you gave the fire.
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladyship’s
695looks and spends what he borrows kindly in your
company.
40Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall
make your wit bankrupt.
I know it well, sir. You have an exchequer
700of words and, I think, no other treasure to give your
followers, for it appears by their bare liveries that
45they live by your bare words.
No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my
father.
705Now, daughter Sylvia, you are hard beset.—
Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.
50What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?
My lord, I will be thankful
710To any happy messenger from thence.
Know you Don Antonio, your countryman?
55Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth and worthy estimation,
And not without desert so well reputed.
715Hath he not a son?
Ay, my good lord, a son that well deserves
60The honor and regard of such a father.
You know him well?
I knew him as myself, for from our infancy
720We have conversed and spent our hours together,
And though myself have been an idle truant,
65Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus—for that’s his name—
725Made use and fair advantage of his days:
His years but young, but his experience old;
70His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;
And in a word—for far behind his worth
Comes all the praises that I now bestow—
730He is complete in feature and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
75Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress’ love,
As meet to be an emperor’s counselor.
735Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
With commendation from great potentates,
80And here he means to spend his time awhile.
I think ’tis no unwelcome news to you.
Should I have wished a thing, it had been he.
740Welcome him then according to his worth.
Sylvia, I speak to you—and you, Sir Thurio.
85For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.
I will send him hither to you presently.
This is the gentleman I told your Ladyship
745Had come along with me but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks.
90Belike that now she hath enfranchised them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.
750Nay, then, he should be blind, and being blind
How could he see his way to seek out you?
95Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
They say that Love hath not an eye at all.
To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself.
755Upon a homely object, Love can wink.
Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman.
100Welcome, dear Proteus.—Mistress, I beseech you
Confirm his welcome with some special favor.
His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
760If this be he you oft have wished to hear from.
Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him
105To be my fellow-servant to your Ladyship.
Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Not so, sweet lady, but too mean a servant
765To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Leave off discourse of disability.
110Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
And duty never yet did want his meed.
770Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
I’ll die on him that says so but yourself.
115That you are welcome?
That you are worthless.
Enter Servant.
Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
775I wait upon his pleasure. Servant exits. Come, Sir
Thurio,
120Go with me.—Once more, new servant, welcome.
I’ll leave you to confer of home affairs.
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
780We’ll both attend upon your Ladyship.
Now tell me, how do all from whence you came?
125Your friends are well and have them much
commended.
And how do yours?
785I left them all in health.
How does your lady? And how thrives your love?
130My tales of love were wont to weary you.
I know you joy not in a love discourse.
Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now.
790I have done penance for contemning Love,
Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me
135With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heartsore sighs,
For in revenge of my contempt of love,
795Love hath chased sleep from my enthrallèd eyes
And made them watchers of mine own heart’s
140sorrow.
O gentle Proteus, Love’s a mighty lord
And hath so humbled me as I confess
800There is no woe to his correction,
Nor, to his service, no such joy on Earth.
145Now, no discourse except it be of love.
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep
Upon the very naked name of Love.
805Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
Was this the idol that you worship so?
150Even she. And is she not a heavenly saint?
No, but she is an earthly paragon.
Call her divine.
810I will not flatter her.
O, flatter me, for love delights in praises.
155When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,
And I must minister the like to you.
Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
815Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the Earth.
160Except my mistress.
Sweet, except not any,
Except thou wilt except against my love.
820Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
And I will help thee to prefer her too:
165She shall be dignified with this high honor—
To bear my lady’s train, lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
825And, of so great a favor growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower
170And make rough winter everlastingly.
Why, Valentine, what braggartism is this?
Pardon me, Proteus, all I can is nothing
830To her whose worth makes other worthies
nothing.
175She is alone—
Then let her alone.
Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own,
835And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas if all their sand were pearl,
180The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
840My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge,
185Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For love, thou know’st, is full of jealousy.
But she loves you?
845Ay, and we are betrothed; nay more, our marriage
hour,
190With all the cunning manner of our flight
Determined of: how I must climb her window,
The ladder made of cords, and all the means
850Plotted and ’greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
195In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Go on before. I shall inquire you forth.
I must unto the road to disembark
855Some necessaries that I needs must use,
And then I’ll presently attend you.
200Will you make haste?
I will.Valentine and Speed exit.
Even as one heat another heat expels,
860Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
205Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentine’s praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
865That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair, and so is Julia that I love—
210That I did love, for now my love is thawed,
Which like a waxen image ’gainst a fire
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
870Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
215O, but I love his lady too too much,
And that’s the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice
875That thus without advice begin to love her?
’Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
220And that hath dazzled my reason’s light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
880If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I’ll use my skill.
Lance, by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.
Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not
welcome. I reckon this always: that a man is never
885undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a
5place till some certain shot be paid and the Hostess
say welcome.
Come on, you madcap. I’ll to the alehouse with
you presently, where, for one shot of five pence,
890thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah,
10how did thy master part with Madam Julia?
Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted
very fairly in jest.
But shall she marry him?
895No.
15How then? Shall he marry her?
No, neither.
What, are they broken?
No, they are both as whole as a fish.
900Why then, how stands the matter with them?
20Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it
stands well with her.
What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
What a block art thou that thou canst not! My
905staff understands me.
25What thou sayst?
Ay, and what I do too. Look thee, I’ll but lean,
and my staff understands me.
It stands under thee indeed.
910Why, “stand under” and “understand” is all
30one.
But tell me true, will ’t be a match?
Ask my dog. If he say “Ay,” it will; if he say
“No,” it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it
915will.
35The conclusion is, then, that it will.
Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but
by a parable.
’Tis well that I get it so. But, Lance, how sayst
920thou that my master is become a notable lover?
40I never knew him otherwise.
Than how?
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak’st me.
925Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.
45I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn
himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the
alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not
930worth the name of a Christian.
50Why?
Because thou hast not so much charity in thee
as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?
At thy service.
They exit.
935To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn.
To love fair Sylvia, shall I be forsworn.
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn.
And ev’n that power which gave me first my oath
5Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
940Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear.
O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
10But now I worship a celestial sun;
945Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken,
And he wants wit that wants resolvèd will
To learn his wit t’ exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad
15Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferred
950With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do.
But there I leave to love where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;
20If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
955If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Sylvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most precious in itself,
25And Sylvia—witness heaven that made her fair—
960Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Rememb’ring that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I’ll hold an enemy,
30Aiming at Sylvia as a sweeter friend.
965I cannot now prove constant to myself
Without some treachery used to Valentine.
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Sylvia’s chamber window,
35Myself in counsel his competitor.
970Now presently I’ll give her father notice
Of their disguising and pretended flight,
Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine,
For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter.
40But Valentine being gone, I’ll quickly cross
975By some sly trick blunt Thurio’s dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.
Counsel, Lucetta. Gentle girl, assist me;
And ev’n in kind love I do conjure thee—
980Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charactered and engraved—
5To lesson me and tell me some good mean
How with my honor I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.
985Alas, the way is wearisome and long.
A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
10To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she that hath Love’s wings to fly,
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
990Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.
Better forbear till Proteus make return.
15O, know’st thou not his looks are my soul’s food?
Pity the dearth that I have pinèd in
By longing for that food so long a time.
995Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
20As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire,
But qualify the fire’s extreme rage,
1000Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.
25The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know’st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage,
But when his fair course is not hinderèd,
1005He makes sweet music with th’ enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
30He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
1010Then let me go and hinder not my course.
I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream
35And make a pastime of each weary step
Till the last step have brought me to my love,
And there I’ll rest as after much turmoil
1015A blessèd soul doth in Elysium.
But in what habit will you go along?
40Not like a woman, for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men.
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
1020As may beseem some well-reputed page.
Why, then, your Ladyship must cut your hair.
45No, girl, I’ll knit it up in silken strings
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.
To be fantastic may become a youth
1025Of greater time than I shall show to be.
What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
50That fits as well as “Tell me, good my lord,
What compass will you wear your farthingale?”
Why, ev’n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.
1030You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.
Out, out, Lucetta. That will be ill-favored.
55A round hose, madam, now’s not worth a pin
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.
Lucetta, as thou lov’st me, let me have
1035What thou think’st meet and is most mannerly.
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me
60For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me it will make me scandalized.
If you think so, then stay at home and go not.
1040Nay, that I will not.
Then never dream on infamy, but go.
65If Proteus like your journey when you come,
No matter who’s displeased when you are gone.
I fear me he will scarce be pleased withal.
1045That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear.
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
70And instances of infinite of love
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
All these are servants to deceitful men.
1050Base men that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus’ birth.
75His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
1055His heart as far from fraud as heaven from Earth.
Pray heav’n he prove so when you come to him.
80Now, as thou lov’st me, do him not that wrong
To bear a hard opinion of his truth.
Only deserve my love by loving him.
1060And presently go with me to my chamber
To take a note of what I stand in need of
85To furnish me upon my longing journey.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my lands, my reputation.
1065Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
Come, answer not, but to it presently.
90I am impatient of my tarriance.
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
We have some secrets to confer about.Thurio exits.
1070Now tell me, Proteus, what’s your will with me?
My gracious lord, that which I would discover
5The law of friendship bids me to conceal,
But when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
1075My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
10Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine my friend
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
1080I know you have determined to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates,
15And should she thus be stol’n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty’s sake, I rather chose
1085To cross my friend in his intended drift
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
20A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
1090Which to requite command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
25Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,
And oftentimes have purposed to forbid
Sir Valentine her company and my court.
1095But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man—
30A rashness that I ever yet have shunned—
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.
1100And that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
35I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept,
And thence she cannot be conveyed away.
1105Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean
How he her chamber-window will ascend
40And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently,
1110Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly
45That my discovery be not aimèd at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretense.
1115Upon mine honor, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
50Adieu, my lord. Sir Valentine is coming.
Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Please it your Grace, there is a messenger
1120That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.
55Be they of much import?
The tenor of them doth but signify
My health and happy being at your court.
1125Nay then, no matter. Stay with me awhile;
I am to break with thee of some affairs
60That 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.
1130I know it well, my lord, and sure the match
Were rich and honorable. Besides, the gentleman
65Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?
1135No. Trust me, she is peevish, sullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,
70Neither 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,
1140Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her,
And where I thought the remnant of mine age
75Should have been cherished by her childlike duty,
I now am full resolved to take a wife
And turn her out to who will take her in.
1145Then let her beauty be her wedding dower,
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
80What would your Grace have me to do in this?
There is a lady in Verona here
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
1150And nought esteems my agèd eloquence.
Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor—
85For long agone I have forgot to court;
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed—
How and which way I may bestow myself
1155To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Win her with gifts if she respect not words;
90Dumb jewels often in their silent kind
More than quick words do move a woman’s mind.
But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
1160A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.
Send her another; never give her o’er,
95For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, ’tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you.
1165If she do chide, ’tis not to have you gone,
Forwhy the fools are mad if left alone.
100Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For “get you gone” she doth not mean “away.”
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
1170Though ne’er so black, say they have angels’ faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man
105If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
But she I mean is promised by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth
1175And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.
110Why, then, I would resort to her by night.
Ay, but the doors be locked and keys kept safe,
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
1180What lets but one may enter at her window?
Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,
115And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.
Why, then a ladder quaintly made of cords
1185To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero’s tower,
120So bold Leander would adventure it.
Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
1190When would you use it? Pray sir, tell me that.
This very night; for love is like a child
125That longs for everything that he can come by.
By seven o’clock I’ll get you such a ladder.
But hark thee: I will go to her alone;
1195How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
130Under a cloak that is of any length.
A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
Ay, my good lord.
1200Then let me see thy cloak;
I’ll get me one of such another length.
135Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
Pulling off the cloak, he reveals
a rope ladder and a paper.
1205What letter is this same? What’s here? (Reads.) To
Sylvia.
140And here an engine fit for my proceeding.
I’ll be so bold to break the seal for once.
(Reads.)
My thoughts do harbor with my Sylvia nightly,
1210And slaves they are to me that send them flying.
O, could their master come and go as lightly,
145Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are
lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,
1215While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest
150them,
Because myself do want my servants’ fortune.
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
1220That they should harbor where their lord should be.
What’s here?
155(Reads.) Sylvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.
’Tis so. And here’s the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaëton—for thou art Merops’ son—
1225Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
160Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder, overweening slave,
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates
1230And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence.
165Thank me for this more than for all the favors
Which all too much I have bestowed on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories
1235Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
170By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
Begone. I will not hear thy vain excuse,
1240But, as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.
And why not death, rather than living torment?
175To die is to be banished from myself,
And Sylvia is myself; banished from her
Is self from self—a deadly banishment.
1245What light is light if Sylvia be not seen?
What joy is joy if Sylvia be not by—
180Unless it be to think that she is by
And feed upon the shadow of perfection?
Except I be by Sylvia in the night,
1250There is no music in the nightingale.
Unless I look on Sylvia in the day,
185There 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
1255Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom;
190Tarry I here, I but attend on death,
But fly I hence, I fly away from life.
Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
1260So-ho, so-ho!
What seest thou?
195Him we go to find. There’s not a hair on ’s head
but ’tis a Valentine.
Valentine?
1265No.
Who then? His spirit?
200Neither.
What then?
Nothing.
1270Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?
Who wouldst thou strike?
205Nothing.
Villain, forbear.
Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—
1275Sirrah, I say forbear.—Friend Valentine, a word.
My ears are stopped and cannot hear good news,
210So much of bad already hath possessed them.
Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untunable, and bad.
1280Is Sylvia dead?
No, Valentine.
215No Valentine indeed for sacred Sylvia.
Hath she forsworn me?
No, Valentine.
1285No Valentine if Sylvia have forsworn me.
What is your news?
220Sir, there is a proclamation that you are
vanished.
That thou art banishèd—O, that’s the news—
1290From hence, from Sylvia, and from me thy friend.
O, I have fed upon this woe already,
225And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Sylvia know that I am banishèd?
Ay, ay, and she hath offered to the doom—
1295Which unreversed stands in effectual force—
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;
230Those at her father’s churlish feet she tendered,
With them, upon her knees, her humble self,
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became
1300them
As if but now they waxèd pale for woe.
235But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
1305But Valentine, if he be ta’en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
240When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her
With many bitter threats of biding there.
1310No more, unless the next word that thou speak’st
Have some malignant power upon my life.
245If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear
As ending anthem of my endless dolor.
Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
1315And study help for that which thou lament’st.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
250Here, 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
1320And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,
255Which, being writ to me, shall be delivered
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
The time now serves not to expostulate.
1325Come, I’ll convey thee through the city gate
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
260Of all that may concern thy love affairs.
As thou lov’st Sylvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.
1330I pray thee, Lance, an if thou seest my boy,
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North
265Gate.
Go, sirrah, find him out.—Come, Valentine.
O, my dear Sylvia! Hapless Valentine!
1335I 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
270one 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
1340love; and yet ’tis a woman, but what woman I will
not tell myself; and yet ’tis a milk-maid; yet ’tis not a
275maid, 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
1345much in a bare Christian. He takes out a piece of
paper. Here is the catalog of her condition.
280(Reads.) Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a
horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch but
only carry; therefore is she better than a jade.
1350(Reads.) Item, She can milk. Look you, a sweet
virtue in a maid with clean hands.
285How now, Signior Lance? What news with your
Mastership?
With my master’s ship? Why, it is at sea.
1355Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What
news, then, in your paper?
290The black’st news that ever thou heard’st.
Why, man? How black?
Why, as black as ink.
1360Let me read them.
Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read.
295Thou liest. I can.
I will try thee. Tell me this, who begot thee?
Marry, the son of my grandfather.
1365O, illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy grandmother.
This proves that thou canst not read.
300Come, fool, come. Try me in thy paper.
There, and Saint Nicholas
be thy speed.
1370Imprimis, She can milk.
Ay, that she can.
305Item, She brews good ale.
And thereof comes the proverb: “Blessing of
your heart, you brew good ale.”
1375Item, She can sew.
That’s as much as to say “Can she so?”
310Item, She can knit.
What need a man care for a stock with a wench,
when she can knit him a stock?
1380Item, She can wash and scour.
A special virtue, for then she need not be
315washed and scoured.
Item, She can spin.
Then may I set the world on wheels, when she
1385can spin for her living.
Item, She hath many nameless virtues.
320That’s as much as to say “bastard virtues,” that
indeed know not their fathers and therefore have no
names.
1390Here follow her vices.
Close at the heels of her virtues.
325Item, She is not to be kissed fasting in respect of
her breath.
Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.
1395Read on.
Item, She hath a sweet mouth.
330That makes amends for her sour breath.
Item, She doth talk in her sleep.
It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her
1400talk.
Item, She is slow in words.
335O villain, that set this down among her vices! To
be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue. I pray
thee, out with ’t, and place it for her chief virtue.
1405Item, She is proud.
Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy and
340cannot be ta’en from her.
Item, She hath no teeth.
I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.
1410Item, She is curst.
Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
345Item, She will often praise her liquor.
If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I
will, for good things should be praised.
1415Item, She is too liberal.
Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ down
350she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll
keep shut; now, of another thing she may, and that
cannot I help. Well, proceed.
1420Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more
faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.
355Stop there. I’ll have her. She was mine and not
mine twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse
that once more.
1425Item, She hath more hair than wit.
“More hair than wit”? It may be; I’ll prove it:
360the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is
more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is
more than the wit, for the greater hides the less.
1430What’s next?
And more faults than hairs.
365That’s monstrous! O, that that were out!
And more wealth than faults.
Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well,
1435I’ll have her, and if it be a match, as nothing is
impossible—
370What then?
Why, then will I tell thee that thy master stays
for thee at the North Gate.
1440For me?
For thee? Ay, who art thou? He hath stayed for a
375better man than thee.
And must I go to him?
Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so
1445long that going will scarce serve the turn.
Why didst not tell me
380sooner? Pox of your love letters!
Now will he be swinged for reading my letter;
an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into
1450secrets. I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction.
Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you
Now Valentine is banished from her sight.
Since his exile she hath despised me most,
Forsworn my company and railed at me,
51455That I am desperate of obtaining her.
This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenchèd in ice, which with an hour’s heat
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
101460And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.
Enter Proteus.
How now, Sir Proteus? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?
Gone, my good lord.
My daughter takes his going grievously.
151465A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
So I believe, but Thurio thinks not so.
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,
Makes me the better to confer with thee.
201470Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace
Let me not live to look upon your Grace.
Thou know’st how willingly I would effect
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter?
I do, my lord.
251475And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
How she opposes her against my will?
She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.
Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
301480The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?
The best way is to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent,
Three things that women highly hold in hate.
Ay, but she’ll think that it is spoke in hate.
351485Ay, if his enemy deliver it.
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.
Then you must undertake to slander him.
And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do.
401490’Tis an ill office for a gentleman,
Especially against his very friend.
Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
451495Being entreated to it by your friend.
You have prevailed, my lord. If I can do it
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say this weed her love from Valentine,
501500It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.
Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
Lest it should ravel and be good to none,
You must provide to bottom it on me,
Which must be done by praising me as much
551505As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.
And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind
Because we know, on Valentine’s report,
You are already Love’s firm votary
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
601510Upon this warrant shall you have access
Where you with Sylvia may confer at large—
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
And, for your friend’s sake, will be glad of you—
Where you may temper her by your persuasion
651515To hate young Valentine and love my friend.
As much as I can do I will effect.—
But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough.
You must lay lime to tangle her desires
By wailful sonnets, whose composèd rhymes
701520Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.
Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Say that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart.
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
751525Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.
For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
801530Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire-lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady’s chamber window
With some sweet consort; to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; the night’s dead silence
851535Will well become such sweet complaining
grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
This discipline shows thou hast been in love.
And thy advice this night I’ll put in practice.
901540Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently
To sort some gentlemen well-skilled in music.
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
To give the onset to thy good advice.
951545About it, gentlemen.
We’ll wait upon your Grace till after supper
And afterward determine our proceedings.
Even now about it! I will pardon you.
Fellows, stand fast. I see a passenger.
1550If there be ten, shrink not, but down with ’em.
Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you.
If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you.
5Sir, we are undone; these are the villains
That all the travelers do fear so much.
1555My friends—
That’s not so, sir. We are your enemies.
Peace. We’ll hear him.
10Ay, by my beard, will we, for he is a proper man.
Then know that I have little wealth to lose.
1560A man I am crossed with adversity;
My riches are these poor habiliments,
Of which, if you should here disfurnish me,
15You take the sum and substance that I have.
Whither travel you?
1565To Verona.
Whence came you?
From Milan.
20Have you long sojourned there?
Some sixteen months, and longer might have stayed
1570If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
What, were you banished thence?
I was.
25For what offense?
For that which now torments me to rehearse;
1575I killed a man, whose death I much repent,
But yet I slew him manfully in fight
Without false vantage or base treachery.
30Why, ne’er repent it if it were done so;
But were you banished for so small a fault?
1580I was, and held me glad of such a doom.
Have you the tongues?
My youthful travel therein made me happy,
35Or else I often had been miserable.
By the bare scalp of Robin Hood’s fat friar,
1585This fellow were a king for our wild faction.
We’ll have him.—Sirs, a word.
The Outlaws step aside to talk.
Master, be one of them. It’s an honorable kind
40of thievery.
Peace, villain.
1590Tell us this: have you anything to take to?
Nothing but my fortune.
Know then that some of us are gentlemen,
45Such as the fury of ungoverned youth
Thrust from the company of awful men.
1595Myself was from Verona banishèd
For practicing to steal away a lady,
An heir and near allied unto the Duke.
50And I from Mantua, for a gentleman
Who, in my mood, I stabbed unto the heart.
1600And I for such like petty crimes as these.
But to the purpose: for we cite our faults
That they may hold excused our lawless lives,
55And partly seeing you are beautified
With goodly shape, and by your own report
1605A linguist, and a man of such perfection
As we do in our quality much want—
Indeed because you are a banished man,
60Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.
Are you content to be our general,
1610To make a virtue of necessity
And live as we do in this wilderness?
What sayst thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?
65Say ay, and be the captain of us all;
We’ll do thee homage and be ruled by thee,
1615Love thee as our commander and our king.
But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.
Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offered.
70I take your offer and will live with you,
Provided that you do no outrages
1620On silly women or poor passengers.
No, we detest such vile base practices.
Come, go with us; we’ll bring thee to our crews
75And show thee all the treasure we have got,
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.
1625Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the color of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer.
5But Sylvia is too fair, too true, too holy
1630To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her,
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
10She bids me think how I have been forsworn
1635In breaking faith with Julia, whom I loved;
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,
The least whereof would quell a lover’s hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
15The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
1640But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her
window
And give some evening music to her ear.
How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?
20Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
1645Will creep in service where it cannot go.
Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Sir, but I do, or else I would be hence.
Who, Sylvia?
25Ay, Sylvia, for your sake.
1650I thank you for your own.—Now, gentlemen,
Let’s tune, and to it lustily awhile.
Now, my young guest, methinks you’re allycholly.
I pray you, why is it?
30Marry, mine host, because I
1655cannot be merry.
Come, we’ll have you merry. I’ll bring you where
you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you
asked for.
35But shall I hear him speak?
1660Ay, that you shall.
That will be music.
Hark, hark.
Music plays.Is he among these?
40Ay. But peace; let’s hear ’em.
1665Who is Sylvia? What is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her
45That she might admirèd be.
1670Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair
To help him of his blindness;
50And, being helped, inhabits there.
1675Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Sylvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling.
55To her let us garlands bring.
1680How now? Are you sadder than you were before?
How do you, man? The music likes you not.
You mistake. The musician likes me
not.
60Why, my pretty youth?
1685He plays false, father.
How, out of tune on the strings?
Not so; but yet so false that he
grieves my very heart-strings.
65You have a quick ear.
1690Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes
me have a slow heart.
I perceive you delight not in music.
Not a whit when it jars so.
70Hark, what fine change is in the music!
1695Ay; that change is the spite.
You would have them always play but one
thing?
I would always have one play but one thing.
75But, host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,
1700Often resort unto this gentlewoman?
I tell you what Lance his man told me: he loved
her out of all nick.
Where is Lance?
80Gone to seek his dog, which tomorrow, by his
1705master’s command, he must carry for a present to
his lady.
Peace. Stand aside. The company
parts.
85Sir Thurio, fear not you. I will so plead
1710That you shall say my cunning drift excels.
Where meet we?
At Saint Gregory’s well.
Farewell.
Thurio and the Musicians exit.Enter Sylvia, above.
90Madam, good even to your Ladyship.
1715I thank you for your music, gentlemen.
Who is that that spake?
One, lady, if you knew his pure heart’s truth,
You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.
95Sir Proteus, as I take it.
1720Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
What’s your will?
That I may compass yours.
You have your wish: my will is even this,
100That presently you hie you home to bed.
1725Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man,
Think’st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,
To be seducèd by thy flattery,
That hast deceived so many with thy vows?
105Return, return, and make thy love amends.
1730For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,
I am so far from granting thy request
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit
And by and by intend to chide myself
110Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
1735I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady,
But she is dead.
’Twere false if I should speak it,
For I am sure she is not burièd.
115Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend
1740Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,
I am betrothed. And art thou not ashamed
To wrong him with thy importunacy?
I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.
120And so suppose am I, for in his grave,
1745Assure thyself, my love is burièd.
Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence,
Or, at the least, in hers sepulcher thine.
125He heard not that.
1750Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
To that I’ll speak, to that I’ll sigh and weep,
130For since the substance of your perfect self
1755Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;
And to your shadow will I make true love.
If ’twere a substance you would sure deceive it
And make it but a shadow, as I am.
135I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
1760But since your falsehood shall become you well
To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it.
And so, good rest.
140As wretches have o’ernight
1765That wait for execution in the morn.
Host, will you go?
By my halidom, I was fast asleep.
Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?
145Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think ’tis almost
1770day.
Not so; but it hath been the longest night
That e’er I watched, and the most heaviest.
This is the hour that Madam Sylvia
Entreated me to call and know her mind;
1775There’s some great matter she’d employ me in.
Madam, madam!
5Who calls?
Your servant, and your friend,
One that attends your Ladyship’s command.
1780Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.
As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
10According to your Ladyship’s impose,
I am thus early come to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.
1785O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman—
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not—
15Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplished.
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
I bear unto the banished Valentine,
1790Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorred.
20Thyself hast loved, and I have heard thee say
No grief did ever come so near thy heart
As when thy lady and thy true love died,
1795Upon whose grave thou vow’dst pure chastity.
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
25To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
And for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company,
1800Upon whose faith and honor I repose.
Urge not my father’s anger, Eglamour,
30But think upon my grief, a lady’s grief,
And on the justice of my flying hence
To keep me from a most unholy match,
1805Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
I do desire thee, even from a heart
35As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
To bear me company and go with me;
If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
1810That I may venture to depart alone.
Madam, I pity much your grievances,
40Which, since I know they virtuously are placed,
I give consent to go along with you,
Recking as little what betideth me
1815As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go?
45This evening coming.
Where shall I meet you?
At Friar Patrick’s cell,
1820Where I intend holy confession.
I will not fail your Ladyship. Good morrow, gentle
50lady.
Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.
When a man’s servant shall play the cur with
1825him, look you, it goes hard—one that I brought up
of a puppy, one that I saved from drowning when
three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went
5to it. I have taught him even as one would say
precisely “Thus I would teach a dog.” I was sent to
1830deliver him as a present to Mistress Sylvia from my
master; and I came no sooner into the dining
chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals
10her capon’s leg. O, ’tis a foul thing when a cur
cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have,
1835as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a
dog indeed; to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I
had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon
15me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged
for ’t. Sure as I live, he had suffered for ’t. You shall
1840judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of
three or four gentlemanlike dogs under the Duke’s
table; he had not been there—bless the mark!—a
20pissing while but all the chamber smelt him. “Out
with the dog!” says one. “What cur is that?” says
1845another. “Whip him out!” says the third. “Hang him
up!” says the Duke. I, having been acquainted with
the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to
25the fellow that whips the dogs. “Friend,” quoth I,
“You mean to whip the dog?” “Ay, marry, do I,”
1850quoth he. “You do him the more wrong,” quoth I.
“’Twas I did the thing you wot of.” He makes me no
more ado but whips me out of the chamber. How
30many masters would do this for his servant? Nay,
I’ll be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings he
1855hath stolen; otherwise he had been executed. I have
stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed; otherwise
he had suffered for ’t. To Crab. Thou think’st
35not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you
served me when I took my leave of Madam Sylvia.
1860Did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do?
When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make
water against a gentlewoman’s farthingale? Didst
40thou ever see me do such a trick?
Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well
1865And will employ thee in some service presently.
In what you please. I’ll do what I can.
I hope thou wilt. To Lance. How now, you
45whoreson peasant?
Where have you been these two days loitering?
1870Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the dog you
bade me.
And what says she to my little jewel?
50Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells
you currish thanks is good enough for such a
1875present.
But she received my dog?
No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought
55him back again.
What, didst thou offer her this from me?
1880Ay, sir. The other squirrel was stolen from me
by the hangman’s boys in the market-place, and
then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as
60ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.
Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,
1885Or ne’er return again into my sight.
Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here?
Lance exits with Crab.
A slave that still an end turns me to shame.
65Sebastian, I have entertainèd thee,
Partly that I have need of such a youth
1890That can with some discretion do my business—
For ’tis no trusting to yond foolish lout—
But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,
70Which, if my augury deceive me not,
Witness good bringing-up, fortune, and truth.
1895Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.
Go presently, and take this ring with thee;
Deliver it to Madam Sylvia.
75She loved me well delivered it to me.
It seems you loved not her, to leave her token.
1900She is dead belike?
Not so; I think she lives.
Alas!
80Why dost thou cry “Alas”?
I cannot choose but pity her.
1905Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?
Because methinks that she loved you as well
As you do love your lady Sylvia.
85She dreams on him that has forgot her love;
You dote on her that cares not for your love.
1910’Tis pity love should be so contrary,
And thinking on it makes me cry “Alas.”
Well, give her that ring and therewithal
90This letter. He gives her a paper. That’s her
chamber. Tell my lady
1915I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.
95How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertained
1920A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.
Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him
That with his very heart despiseth me?
100Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
Because I love him, I must pity him.
1925This ring I gave him when he parted from me,
To bind him to remember my good will;
And now am I, unhappy messenger,
105To plead for that which I would not obtain,
To carry that which I would have refused,
1930To praise his faith, which I would have dispraised.
I am my master’s true confirmèd love,
But cannot be true servant to my master
110Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly
1935As—Heaven it knows!—I would not have him
speed.
Enter Sylvia.
As Sebastian. Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you be
115my mean
To bring me where to speak with Madam Sylvia.
1940What would you with her, if that I be she?
If you be she, I do entreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
120From whom?
From my master, Sir Proteus,
1945madam.
O, he sends you for a picture?
Ay, madam.
125Ursula, bring my picture there.
She is brought the picture.
Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,
1950One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.
Madam, please you peruse this
130letter.She gives Sylvia a paper.
Pardon me, madam, I have unadvised
1955Delivered you a paper that I should not.
This is the letter to your Ladyship.
I pray thee let me look on that again.
135It may not be; good madam, pardon me.
There, hold.
1960I will not look upon your master’s lines;
I know they are stuffed with protestations
And full of new-found oaths, which he will break
140As easily as I do tear his paper.
Madam, he sends your Ladyship this ring.
1965The more shame for him, that he sends it me;
For I have heard him say a thousand times
His Julia gave it him at his departure.
145Though his false finger have profaned the ring,
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
1970She thanks you.
What sayst thou?
I thank you, madam, that you tender her;
150Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.
Dost thou know her?
1975Almost as well as I do know myself.
To think upon her woes, I do protest
That I have wept a hundred several times.
155Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her?
I think she doth, and that’s her cause of sorrow.
1980Is she not passing fair?
She hath been fairer, madam, than she is;
When she did think my master loved her well,
160She, in my judgment, was as fair as you.
But since she did neglect her looking-glass
1985And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks
And pinched the lily tincture of her face,
165That now she is become as black as I.
How tall was she?
1990About my stature; for at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were played,
Our youth got me to play the woman’s part,
170And I was trimmed in Madam Julia’s gown,
Which served me as fit, by all men’s judgments,
1995As if the garment had been made for me;
Therefore I know she is about my height.
And at that time I made her weep agood,
175For I did play a lamentable part;
Madam, ’twas Ariadne, passioning
2000For Theseus’ perjury and unjust flight,
Which I so lively acted with my tears
That my poor mistress, movèd therewithal,
180Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.
2005She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
I weep myself to think upon thy words.
185Here, youth, there is my purse.
She gives Julia a purse.
I give thee this
2010For thy sweet mistress’ sake, because thou lov’st her.
Farewell.
And she shall thank you for ’t if e’er you know her.
Sylvia exits.
190A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful.
I hope my master’s suit will be but cold,
2015Since she respects my mistress’ love so much.—
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
Here is her picture; let me see. I think
195If I had such a tire, this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers;
2020And yet the painter flattered her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn; mine is perfect yellow;
200If that be all the difference in his love,
I’ll get me such a colored periwig.
2025Her eyes are gray as glass, and so are mine.
Ay, but her forehead’s low, and mine’s as high.
What should it be that he respects in her
205But I can make respective in myself
If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
2030Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For ’tis thy rival. O, thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipped, kissed, loved, and
210adored;
And were there sense in his idolatry,
2035My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I’ll use thee kindly for thy mistress’ sake,
That used me so, or else, by Jove I vow,
215I should have scratched out your unseeing eyes
To make my master out of love with thee.
2040The sun begins to gild the western sky,
And now it is about the very hour
That Sylvia at Friar Patrick’s cell should meet me.
She will not fail, for lovers break not hours,
5Unless it be to come before their time,
2045So much they spur their expedition.
Enter Sylvia.
See where she comes.—Lady, a happy evening.
Amen, amen. Go on, good Eglamour,
Out at the postern by the abbey wall.
10I fear I am attended by some spies.
2050Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;
If we recover that, we are sure enough.
Sir Proteus, what says Sylvia to my suit?
O sir, I find her milder than she was,
And yet she takes exceptions at your person.
2055What? That my leg is too long?
5No, that it is too little.
I’ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.
But love will not be spurred to what it loathes.
What says she to my face?
2060She says it is a fair one.
10Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black.
But pearls are fair, and the old saying is,
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.
’Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies’ eyes,
2065For I had rather wink than look on them.
15How likes she my discourse?
Ill, when you talk of war.
But well when I discourse of love and peace.
But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.
2070What says she to my valor?
20O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.
She needs not when she knows it cowardice.
What says she to my birth?
That you are well derived.
2075True, from a gentleman to a fool.
25Considers she my possessions?
O, ay, and pities them.
Wherefore?
That such an ass should owe them.
2080That they are out by lease.
30Here comes the Duke.
Enter Duke.
How now, Sir Proteus?—How now, Thurio?
Which of you saw Eglamour of late?
Not I.
2085Nor I.
35Saw you my daughter?
Neither.
Why, then, she’s fled unto that peasant, Valentine,
And Eglamour is in her company.
2090’Tis true, for Friar Lawrence met them both
40As he, in penance, wandered through the forest;
Him he knew well and guessed that it was she,
But, being masked, he was not sure of it.
Besides, she did intend confession
2095At Patrick’s cell this even, and there she was not.
45These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.
Therefore I pray you stand not to discourse,
But mount you presently and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain foot
2100That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.
50Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.
Why, this it is to be a peevish girl
That flies her fortune when it follows her.
I’ll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour
2105Than for the love of reckless Sylvia.
55And I will follow, more for Sylvia’s love
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.
And I will follow, more to cross that love
Than hate for Sylvia, that is gone for love.
2110Come, come, be patient. We must bring you to our
captain.
A thousand more mischances than this one
Have learned me how to brook this patiently.
5Come, bring her away.
2115Where is the gentleman that was with her?
Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,
But Moyses and Valerius follow him.
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;
10There is our captain. We’ll follow him that’s fled.
2120The thicket is beset; he cannot ’scape.
Come, I must bring you to our captain’s cave.
Fear not; he bears an honorable mind
And will not use a woman lawlessly.
15O Valentine, this I endure for thee!
2125How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns;
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
5And to the nightingale’s complaining notes
2130Tune my distresses and record my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall
10And leave no memory of what it was.
2135Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.
Shouting and sounds of fighting.
What hallowing and what stir is this today?
These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
15Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
2140They love me well, yet I have much to do
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who’s this comes here?
Madam, this service I have done for you—
20Though you respect not aught your servant doth—
2145To hazard life, and rescue you from him
That would have forced your honor and your love.
Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look;
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,
25And less than this I am sure you cannot give.
2150How like a dream is this I see and hear!
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.
O miserable, unhappy that I am!
Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came,
30But by my coming, I have made you happy.
2155By thy approach thou mak’st me most unhappy.
And me, when he approacheth to your presence.
Had I been seizèd by a hungry lion,
I would have been a breakfast to the beast
35Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
2160O heaven, be judge how I love Valentine,
Whose life’s as tender to me as my soul;
And full as much, for more there cannot be,
I do detest false perjured Proteus.
40Therefore begone; solicit me no more.
2165What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
Would I not undergo for one calm look!
O, ’tis the curse in love, and still approved,
When women cannot love where they’re beloved.
45When Proteus cannot love where he’s beloved.
2170Read over Julia’s heart, thy first best love,
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
Descended into perjury to love me.
50Thou hast no faith left now unless thou ’dst two,
2175And that’s far worse than none; better have none
Than plural faith, which is too much by one.
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!
In love
55Who respects friend?
2180All men but Proteus.
Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I’ll woo you like a soldier, at arms’ end,
60And love you ’gainst the nature of love—force you.
2185O, heaven!
I’ll force thee yield to my desire.
Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch,
Thou friend of an ill fashion.
65Valentine!
2190Thou common friend, that’s without faith or love,
For such is a friend now. Treacherous man,
Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say
70I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.
2195Who should be trusted when one’s right hand
Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,
I am sorry I must never trust thee more,
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
75The private wound is deepest. O, time most
2200accursed,
’Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
My shame and guilt confounds me.
Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow
80Be a sufficient ransom for offense,
2205I tender ’t here. I do as truly suffer
As e’er I did commit.
Then I am paid,
And once again I do receive thee honest.
85Who by repentance is not satisfied
2210Is nor of heaven nor Earth, for these are pleased;
By penitence th’ Eternal’s wrath’s appeased.
And that my love may appear plain and free,
All that was mine in Sylvia I give thee.
90O me unhappy!
2215Look to the boy.
Why, boy!
Why, wag, how now? What’s the matter? Look up.
Speak.
95O, good sir, my master charged
2220me to deliver a ring to Madam Sylvia, which out of
my neglect was never done.
Where is that ring, boy?
Here ’tis; this is it.
She rises, and hands him a ring.
100How, let me see.
2225Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.
O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook.
This is the ring you sent to Sylvia.
But how cam’st thou by this ring? At my depart
105I gave this unto Julia.
2230And Julia herself did give it me,
And Julia herself hath brought it hither.
How? Julia!
Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths
110And entertained ’em deeply in her heart.
2235How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!
O, Proteus, let this habit make thee blush.
Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me
Such an immodest raiment, if shame live
115In a disguise of love.
2240It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
Women to change their shapes than men their minds.
“Than men their minds”? ’Tis true. O heaven, were
man
120But constant, he were perfect; that one error
2245Fills him with faults, makes him run through all th’
sins;
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
What is in Sylvia’s face but I may spy
125More fresh in Julia’s, with a constant eye?
2250Come, come, a
hand from either.
Let me be blest to make this happy close.
’Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.
130Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish forever.
2255And I mine.
A prize, a prize, a prize!
Forbear, forbear, I say. It is my lord the Duke.
The Outlaws release the Duke and Thurio.
Your Grace is welcome to a man disgraced,
135Banished Valentine.
2260Sir Valentine?
Yonder is Sylvia, and Sylvia’s mine.
Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;
Come not within the measure of my wrath.
140Do not name Sylvia thine; if once again,
2265Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands;
Take but possession of her with a touch—
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love!
Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I.
145I hold him but a fool that will endanger
2270His body for a girl that loves him not.
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.
The more degenerate and base art thou
To make such means for her as thou hast done,
150And leave her on such slight conditions.—
2275Now, by the honor of my ancestry,
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
And think thee worthy of an empress’ love.
Know, then, I here forget all former griefs,
155Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,
2280Plead a new state in thy unrivaled merit,
To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,
Thou art a gentleman, and well derived;
Take thou thy Sylvia, for thou hast deserved her.
160I thank your Grace, the gift hath made me happy.
2285I now beseech you, for your daughter’s sake,
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.
I grant it for thine own, whate’er it be.
These banished men, that I have kept withal,
165Are men endued with worthy qualities.
2290Forgive them what they have committed here,
And let them be recalled from their exile;
They are reformèd, civil, full of good,
And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
170Thou hast prevailed; I pardon them and thee.
2295Dispose of them as thou know’st their deserts.
Come, let us go; we will include all jars
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.
And as we walk along, I dare be bold
175With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.
2300Pointing to Julia. What think you of this page, my
lord?
I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.
I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.
180What mean you by that saying?
2305Please you, I’ll tell you as we pass along,
That you will wonder what hath fortunèd.—
Come, Proteus, ’tis your penance but to hear
The story of your loves discoverèd.
185That done, our day of marriage shall be yours,
2310One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.