Two Gentlemen of Verona

1Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:

2Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

3Were't not affection chains thy tender days

4To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,

5I rather would entreat thy company

6To see the wonders of the world abroad,

7Than, living dully sluggardized at home,

8Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

9But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein,

10Even as I would when I to love begin.

11Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!

12Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest

13Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:

14Wish me partaker in thy happiness

15When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,

16If ever danger do environ thee,

17Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

18For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

19And on a love-book pray for my success?

20Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

21That's on some shallow story of deep love:

22How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

23That's a deep story of a deeper love:

24For he was more than over shoes in love.

25'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,

26And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

27Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.

28No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

29What?

30To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;

31Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth

32With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:

33If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;

34If lost, why then a grievous labour won;

35However, but a folly bought with wit,

36Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

37So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

38So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

39'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

40Love is your master, for he masters you:

41And he that is so yoked by a fool,

42Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

43Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud

44The eating canker dwells, so eating love

45Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

46And writers say, as the most forward bud

47Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

48Even so by love the young and tender wit

49Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,

50Losing his verdure even in the prime

51And all the fair effects of future hopes.

52But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,

53That art a votary to fond desire?

54Once more adieu! my father at the road

55Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

56And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

57Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.

58To Milan let me hear from thee by letters

59Of thy success in love, and what news else

60Betideth here in absence of thy friend;

61And likewise will visit thee with mine.

62All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

63As much to you at home! and so, farewell.

64He after honour hunts, I after love:

65He leaves his friends to dignify them more,

66I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.

67Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,

68Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,

69War with good counsel, set the world at nought;

70Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

71Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

72But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.

73Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,

74And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

75Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,

76An if the shepherd be a while away.

77You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,

78and I a sheep?

79I do.

80Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

81A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.

82This proves me still a sheep.

83True; and thy master a shepherd.

84Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

85It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

86The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the

87shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks

88not me: therefore I am no sheep.

89The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the

90shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for

91wages followest thy master; thy master for wages

92follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.

93Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

94But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

95Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,

96a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a

97lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

98Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

99If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

100Nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you.

101Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for

102carrying your letter.

103You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.

104From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,

105'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to

106your lover.

107But what said she?

108[First nodding] Ay.

109Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.

110You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask

111me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'

112And that set together is noddy.

113Now you have taken the pains to set it together,

114take it for your pains.

115No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

116Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

117Why sir, how do you bear with me?

118Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing

119but the word 'noddy' for my pains.

120Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

121And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

122Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?

123Open your purse, that the money and the matter may

124be both at once delivered.

125Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

126Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

127Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

128Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,

129not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:

130and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I

131fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your

132mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as

133hard as steel.

134What said she? nothing?

135No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To

136testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned

137me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your

138letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.

139Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,

140Which cannot perish having thee aboard,

141Being destined to a drier death on shore.

142I must go send some better messenger:

143I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,

144Receiving them from such a worthless post.

1But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,

2Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?

3Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

4Of all the fair resort of gentlemen

5That every day with parle encounter me,

6In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

7Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind

8According to my shallow simple skill.

9What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

10As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;

11But, were I you, he never should be mine.

12What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

13Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.

14What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

15Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

16How now! what means this passion at his name?

17Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame

18That I, unworthy body as I am,

19Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

20Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

21Then thus: of many good I think him best.

22Your reason?

23I have no other, but a woman's reason;

24I think him so because I think him so.

25And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

26Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

27Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

28Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

29His little speaking shows his love but small.

30Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

31They do not love that do not show their love.

32O, they love least that let men know their love.

33I would I knew his mind.

34Peruse this paper, madam.

35'To Julia.' Say, from whom?

36That the contents will show.

37Say, say, who gave it thee?

38Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.

39He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,

40Did in your name receive it: pardon the

41fault I pray.

42Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!

43Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?

44To whisper and conspire against my youth?

45Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth

46And you an officer fit for the place.

47Or else return no more into my sight.

48To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

49Will ye be gone?

50That you may ruminate.

51And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:

52It were a shame to call her back again

53And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.

54What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,

55And would not force the letter to my view!

56Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that

57Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.'

58Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love

59That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse

60And presently all humbled kiss the rod!

61How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,

62When willingly I would have had her here!

63How angerly I taught my brow to frown,

64When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!

65My penance is to call Lucetta back

66And ask remission for my folly past.

67What ho! Lucetta!

68What would your ladyship?

69Is't near dinner-time?

70I would it were,

71That you might kill your stomach on your meat

72And not upon your maid.

73What is't that you took up so gingerly?

74Nothing.

75Why didst thou stoop, then?

76To take a paper up that I let fall.

77And is that paper nothing?

78Nothing concerning me.

79Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

80Madam, it will not lie where it concerns

81Unless it have a false interpeter.

82Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.

83That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.

84Give me a note: your ladyship can set.

85As little by such toys as may be possible.

86Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' love.'

87It is too heavy for so light a tune.

88Heavy! belike it hath some burden then?

89Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.

90And why not you?

91I cannot reach so high.

92Let's see your song. How now, minion!

93Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:

94And yet methinks I do not like this tune.

95You do not?

96No, madam; it is too sharp.

97You, minion, are too saucy.

98Nay, now you are too flat

99And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:

100There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

101The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass.

102Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.

103This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.

104Here is a coil with protestation!

105Go get you gone, and let the papers lie:

106You would be fingering them, to anger me.

107She makes it strange; but she would be best pleased

108To be so anger'd with another letter.

109Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!

110O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!

111Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey

112And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!

113I'll kiss each several paper for amends.

114Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia!

115As in revenge of thy ingratitude,

116I throw thy name against the bruising stones,

117Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.

118And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.'

119Poor wounded name! my bosom as a bed

120Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd;

121And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

122But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down.

123Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away

124Till I have found each letter in the letter,

125Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear

126Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock

127And throw it thence into the raging sea!

128Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,

129'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,

130To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away.

131And yet I will not, sith so prettily

132He couples it to his complaining names.

133Thus will I fold them one on another:

134Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.

135Madam,

136Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

137Well, let us go.

138What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?

139If you respect them, best to take them up.

140Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:

141Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

142I see you have a month's mind to them.

143Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;

144I see things too, although you judge I wink.

145Come, come; will't please you go?

1Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that

2Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

3'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

4Why, what of him?

5He wonder'd that your lordship

6Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,

7While other men, of slender reputation,

8Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:

9Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;

10Some to discover islands far away;

11Some to the studious universities.

12For any or for all these exercises,

13He said that Proteus your son was meet,

14And did request me to importune you

15To let him spend his time no more at home,

16Which would be great impeachment to his age,

17In having known no travel in his youth.

18Nor need'st thou much importune me to that

19Whereon this month I have been hammering.

20I have consider'd well his loss of time

21And how he cannot be a perfect man,

22Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:

23Experience is by industry achieved

24And perfected by the swift course of time.

25Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?

26I think your lordship is not ignorant

27How his companion, youthful Valentine,

28Attends the emperor in his royal court.

29I know it well.

30'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:

31There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,

32Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen.

33And be in eye of every exercise

34Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

35I like thy counsel; well hast thou advised:

36And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,

37The execution of it shall make known.

38Even with the speediest expedition

39I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.

40To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,

41With other gentlemen of good esteem,

42Are journeying to salute the emperor

43And to commend their service to his will.

44Good company; with them shall Proteus go:

45And, in good time! now will we break with him.

46Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!

47Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;

48Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.

49O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,

50To seal our happiness with their consents!

51O heavenly Julia!

52How now! what letter are you reading there?

53May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two

54Of commendations sent from Valentine,

55Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.

56Lend me the letter; let me see what news.

57There is no news, my lord, but that he writes

58How happily he lives, how well beloved

59And daily graced by the emperor;

60Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

61And how stand you affected to his wish?

62As one relying on your lordship's will

63And not depending on his friendly wish.

64My will is something sorted with his wish.

65Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;

66For what I will, I will, and there an end.

67I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time

68With Valentinus in the emperor's court:

69What maintenance he from his friends receives,

70Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.

71To-morrow be in readiness to go:

72Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

73My lord, I cannot be so soon provided:

74Please you, deliberate a day or two.

75Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee:

76No more of stay! to-morrow thou must go.

77Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ'd

78To hasten on his expedition.

79Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning,

80And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd.

81I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter,

82Lest he should take exceptions to my love;

83And with the vantage of mine own excuse

84Hath he excepted most against my love.

85O, how this spring of love resembleth

86The uncertain glory of an April day,

87Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,

88And by and by a cloud takes all away!

89Sir Proteus, your father calls for you:

90He is in haste; therefore, I pray you to go.

91Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto,

92And yet a thousand times it answers 'no.'

1Sir, your glove.

2Not mine; my gloves are on.

3Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.

4Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine:

5Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!

6Ah, Silvia, Silvia!

7Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!

8How now, sirrah?

9She is not within hearing, sir.

10Why, sir, who bade you call her?

11Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.

12Well, you'll still be too forward.

13And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

14Go to, sir: tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?

15She that your worship loves?

16Why, how know you that I am in love?

17Marry, by these special marks: first, you have

18learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms,

19like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a

20robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had

21the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had

22lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had

23buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes

24diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to

25speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were

26wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you

27walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you

28fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you

29looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you

30are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look

31on you, I can hardly think you my master.

32Are all these things perceived in me?

33They are all perceived without ye.

34Without me? they cannot.

35Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you

36were so simple, none else would: but you are so

37without these follies, that these follies are within

38you and shine through you like the water in an

39urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a

40physician to comment on your malady.

41But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

42She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper?

43Hast thou observed that? even she, I mean.

44Why, sir, I know her not.

45Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet

46knowest her not?

47Is she not hard-favoured, sir?

48Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.

49Sir, I know that well enough.

50What dost thou know?

51That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured.

52I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

53That's because the one is painted and the other out

54of all count.

55How painted? and how out of count?

56Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no

57man counts of her beauty.

58How esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.

59You never saw her since she was deformed.

60How long hath she been deformed?

61Ever since you loved her.

62I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I

63see her beautiful.

64If you love her, you cannot see her.

65Why?

66Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes;

67or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to

68have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going

69ungartered!

70What should I see then?

71Your own present folly and her passing deformity:

72for he, being in love, could not see to garter his

73hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

74Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last

75morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

76True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you,

77you swinged me for my love, which makes me the

78bolder to chide you for yours.

79In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

80I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

81Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to

82one she loves.

83And have you?

84I have.

85Are they not lamely writ?

86No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace!

87here she comes.

88[Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!

89Now will he interpret to her.

90Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

91[Aside] O, give ye good even! here's a million of manners.

92Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

93[Aside] He should give her interest and she gives it him.

94As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter

95Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;

96Which I was much unwilling to proceed in

97But for my duty to your ladyship.

98I thank you gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

99Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;

100For being ignorant to whom it goes

101I writ at random, very doubtfully.

102Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

103No, madam; so it stead you, I will write

104Please you command, a thousand times as much; And yet--

105A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;

106And yet I will not name it; and yet I care not;

107And yet take this again; and yet I thank you,

108Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

109[Aside] And yet you will; and yet another 'yet.'

110What means your ladyship? do you not like it?

111Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;

112But since unwillingly, take them again.

113Nay, take them.

114Madam, they are for you.

115Ay, ay: you writ them, sir, at my request;

116But I will none of them; they are for you;

117I would have had them writ more movingly.

118Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

119And when it's writ, for my sake read it over,

120And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

121If it please me, madam, what then?

122Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:

123And so, good morrow, servant.

124O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

125As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!

126My master sues to her, and she hath

127taught her suitor,

128He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

129O excellent device! was there ever heard a better,

130That my master, being scribe, to himself should write

131the letter?

132How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?

133Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.

134To do what?

135To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.

136To whom?

137To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.

138What figure?

139By a letter, I should say.

140Why, she hath not writ to me?

141What need she, when she hath made you write to

142yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

143No, believe me.

144No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you perceive

145her earnest?

146She gave me none, except an angry word.

147Why, she hath given you a letter.

148That's the letter I writ to her friend.

149And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.

150I would it were no worse.

151I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:

152For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty,

153Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;

154Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,

155Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.

156All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.

157Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.

158I have dined.

159Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can

160feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my

161victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like

162your mistress; be moved, be moved.

1Have patience, gentle Julia.

2I must, where is no remedy.

3When possibly I can, I will return.

4If you turn not, you will return the sooner.

5Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

6Why then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this.

7And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

8Here is my hand for my true constancy;

9And when that hour o'erslips me in the day

10Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,

11The next ensuing hour some foul mischance

12Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!

13My father stays my coming; answer not;

14The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;

15That tide will stay me longer than I should.

16Julia, farewell!

17What, gone without a word?

18Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;

19For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.

20Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.

21Go; I come, I come.

22Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

1Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;

2all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I

3have received my proportion, like the prodigious

4son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's

5court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured

6dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father

7wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat

8wringing her hands, and all our house in a great

9perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed

10one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and

11has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have

12wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam,

13having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my

14parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This

15shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father:

16no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that

17cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it

18hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in

19it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance

20on't! there 'tis: now, sit, this staff is my

21sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and

22as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I

23am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the

24dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,

25so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing:

26now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping:

27now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now

28come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now

29like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there

30'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now

31come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now

32the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a

33word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

34Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped

35and thou art to post after with oars. What's the

36matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! You'll

37lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

38It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the

39unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

40What's the unkindest tide?

41Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.

42Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in

43losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing

44thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy

45master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy

46service,--Why dost thou stop my mouth?

47For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

48Where should I lose my tongue?

49In thy tale.

50In thy tail!

51Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and

52the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river

53were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the

54wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

55Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

56Sir, call me what thou darest.

57Wilt thou go?

58Well, I will go.

1Servant!

2Mistress?

3Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

4Ay, boy, it's for love.

5Not of you.

6Of my mistress, then.

7'Twere good you knocked him.

8Servant, you are sad.

9Indeed, madam, I seem so.

10Seem you that you are not?

11Haply I do.

12So do counterfeits.

13So do you.

14What seem I that I am not?

15Wise.

16What instance of the contrary?

17Your folly.

18And how quote you my folly?

19I quote it in your jerkin.

20My jerkin is a doublet.

21Well, then, I'll double your folly.

22How?

23What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?

24Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.

25That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live

26in your air.

27You have said, sir.

28Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

29I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

30A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

31'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

32Who is that, servant?

33Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir

34Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,

35and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

36Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall

37make your wit bankrupt.

38I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,

39and, I think, no other treasure to give your

40followers, for it appears by their bare liveries,

41that they live by your bare words.

42No more, gentlemen, no more:--here comes my father.

43Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.

44Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:

45What say you to a letter from your friends

46Of much good news?

47My lord, I will be thankful.

48To any happy messenger from thence.

49Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?

50Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman

51To be of worth and worthy estimation

52And not without desert so well reputed.

53Hath he not a son?

54Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves

55The honour and regard of such a father.

56You know him well?

57I know him as myself; for from our infancy

58We have conversed and spent our hours together:

59And though myself have been an idle truant,

60Omitting the sweet benefit of time

61To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,

62Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,

63Made use and fair advantage of his days;

64His years but young, but his experience old;

65His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;

66And, in a word, for far behind his worth

67Comes all the praises that I now bestow,

68He is complete in feature and in mind

69With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

70Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,

71He is as worthy for an empress' love

72As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.

73Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me,

74With commendation from great potentates;

75And here he means to spend his time awhile:

76I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

77Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.

78Welcome him then according to his worth.

79Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;

80For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:

81I will send him hither to you presently.

82This is the gentleman I told your ladyship

83Had come along with me, but that his mistress

84Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

85Belike that now she hath enfranchised them

86Upon some other pawn for fealty.

87Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.

88Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind

89How could he see his way to seek out you?

90Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.

91They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

92To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:

93Upon a homely object Love can wink.

94Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.

95Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,

96Confirm his welcome with some special favour.

97His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,

98If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.

99Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him

100To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

101Too low a mistress for so high a servant.

102Not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant

103To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

104Leave off discourse of disability:

105Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

106My duty will I boast of; nothing else.

107And duty never yet did want his meed:

108Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

109I'll die on him that says so but yourself.

110That you are welcome?

111That you are worthless.

112Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.

113I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,

114Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:

115I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;

116When you have done, we look to hear from you.

117We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

118Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

119Your friends are well and have them much commended.

120And how do yours?

121I left them all in health.

122How does your lady? and how thrives your love?

123My tales of love were wont to weary you;

124I know you joy not in a love discourse.

125Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:

126I have done penance for contemning Love,

127Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me

128With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,

129With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;

130For in revenge of my contempt of love,

131Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes

132And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.

133O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,

134And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,

135There is no woe to his correction,

136Nor to his service no such joy on earth.

137Now no discourse, except it be of love;

138Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,

139Upon the very naked name of love.

140Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.

141Was this the idol that you worship so?

142Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

143No; but she is an earthly paragon.

144Call her divine.

145I will not flatter her.

146O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

147When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,

148And I must minister the like to you.

149Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,

150Yet let her be a principality,

151Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

152Except my mistress.

153Sweet, except not any;

154Except thou wilt except against my love.

155Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

156And I will help thee to prefer her too:

157She shall be dignified with this high honour--

158To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth

159Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss

160And, of so great a favour growing proud,

161Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower

162And make rough winter everlastingly.

163Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

164Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing

165To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing;

166She is alone.

167Then let her alone.

168Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,

169And I as rich in having such a jewel

170As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,

171The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.

172Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,

173Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.

174My foolish rival, that her father likes

175Only for his possessions are so huge,

176Is gone with her along, and I must after,

177For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

178But she loves you?

179Ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our,

180marriage-hour,

181With all the cunning manner of our flight,

182Determined of; how I must climb her window,

183The ladder made of cords, and all the means

184Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.

185Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,

186In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

187Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:

188I must unto the road, to disembark

189Some necessaries that I needs must use,

190And then I'll presently attend you.

191Will you make haste?

192I will.

193Even as one heat another heat expels,

194Or as one nail by strength drives out another,

195So the remembrance of my former love

196Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

197Is it mine, or Valentine's praise,

198Her true perfection, or my false transgression,

199That makes me reasonless to reason thus?

200She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--

201That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;

202Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,

203Bears no impression of the thing it was.

204Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,

205And that I love him not as I was wont.

206O, but I love his lady too too much,

207And that's the reason I love him so little.

208How shall I dote on her with more advice,

209That thus without advice begin to love her!

210'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,

211And that hath dazzled my reason's light;

212But when I look on her perfections,

213There is no reason but I shall be blind.

214If I can cheque my erring love, I will;

215If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.

1Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan!

2Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not

3welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never

4undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a

5place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess

6say 'Welcome!'

7Come on, you madcap, I'll to the alehouse with you

8presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou

9shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how

10did thy master part with Madam Julia?

11Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very

12fairly in jest.

13But shall she marry him?

14No.

15How then? shall he marry her?

16No, neither.

17What, are they broken?

18No, they are both as whole as a fish.

19Why, then, how stands the matter with them?

20Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it

21stands well with her.

22What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.

23What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My

24staff understands me.

25What thou sayest?

26Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean,

27and my staff understands me.

28It stands under thee, indeed.

29Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

30But tell me true, will't be a match?

31Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will! if he say no,

32it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.

33The conclusion is then that it will.

34Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.

35'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest

36thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

37I never knew him otherwise.

38Than how?

39A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

40Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.

41Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

42I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

43Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself

44in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse;

45if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the

46name of a Christian.

47Why?

48Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to

49go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

50At thy service.

1To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;

2To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;

3To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;

4And even that power which gave me first my oath

5Provokes me to this threefold perjury;

6Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear.

7O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,

8Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!

9At first I did adore a twinkling star,

10But now I worship a celestial sun.

11Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken,

12And he wants wit that wants resolved will

13To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.

14Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,

15Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd

16With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.

17I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;

18But there I leave to love where I should love.

19Julia I lose and Valentine I lose:

20If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;

21If I lose them, thus find I by their loss

22For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia.

23I to myself am dearer than a friend,

24For love is still most precious in itself;

25And Silvia--witness Heaven, that made her fair!--

26Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

27I will forget that Julia is alive,

28Remembering that my love to her is dead;

29And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,

30Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.

31I cannot now prove constant to myself,

32Without some treachery used to Valentine.

33This night he meaneth with a corded ladder

34To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window,

35Myself in counsel, his competitor.

36Now presently I'll give her father notice

37Of their disguising and pretended flight;

38Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine;

39For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;

40But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross

41By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.

42Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,

43As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!

1Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;

2And even in kind love I do conjure thee,

3Who art the table wherein all my thoughts

4Are visibly character'd and engraved,

5To lesson me and tell me some good mean

6How, with my honour, I may undertake

7A journey to my loving Proteus.

8Alas, the way is wearisome and long!

9A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary

10To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;

11Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,

12And when the flight is made to one so dear,

13Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.

14Better forbear till Proteus make return.

15O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?

16Pity the dearth that I have pined in,

17By longing for that food so long a time.

18Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,

19Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow

20As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

21I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,

22But qualify the fire's extreme rage,

23Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

24The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns.

25The current that with gentle murmur glides,

26Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;

27But when his fair course is not hindered,

28He makes sweet music with the enamell'ed stones,

29Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

30He overtaketh in his pilgrimage,

31And so by many winding nooks he strays

32With willing sport to the wild ocean.

33Then let me go and hinder not my course

34I'll be as patient as a gentle stream

35And make a pastime of each weary step,

36Till the last step have brought me to my love;

37And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil

38A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

39But in what habit will you go along?

40Not like a woman; for I would prevent

41The loose encounters of lascivious men:

42Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds

43As may beseem some well-reputed page.

44Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair.

45No, girl, I'll knit it up in silken strings

46With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.

47To be fantastic may become a youth

48Of greater time than I shall show to be.

49What fashion, madam shall I make your breeches?

50That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord,

51What compass will you wear your farthingale?'

52Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta.

53You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

54Out, out, Lucetta! that would be ill-favour'd.

55A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,

56Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

57Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have

58What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly.

59But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me

60For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

61I fear me, it will make me scandalized.

62If you think so, then stay at home and go not.

63Nay, that I will not.

64Then never dream on infamy, but go.

65If Proteus like your journey when you come,

66No matter who's displeased when you are gone:

67I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal.

68That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:

69A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears

70And instances of infinite of love

71Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

72All these are servants to deceitful men.

73Base men, that use them to so base effect!

74But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth

75His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,

76His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,

77His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,

78His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

79Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him!

80Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong

81To bear a hard opinion of his truth:

82Only deserve my love by loving him;

83And presently go with me to my chamber,

84To take a note of what I stand in need of,

85To furnish me upon my longing journey.

86All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,

87My goods, my lands, my reputation;

88Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.

89Come, answer not, but to it presently!

90I am impatient of my tarriance.

1Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;

2We have some secrets to confer about.

3Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?

4My gracious lord, that which I would discover

5The law of friendship bids me to conceal;

6But when I call to mind your gracious favours

7Done to me, undeserving as I am,

8My duty pricks me on to utter that

9Which else no worldly good should draw from me.

10Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,

11This night intends to steal away your daughter:

12Myself am one made privy to the plot.

13I know you have determined to bestow her

14On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;

15And should she thus be stol'n away from you,

16It would be much vexation to your age.

17Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose

18To cross my friend in his intended drift

19Than, by concealing it, heap on your head

20A pack of sorrows which would press you down,

21Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

22Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;

23Which to requite, command me while I live.

24This love of theirs myself have often seen,

25Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,

26And oftentimes have purposed to forbid

27Sir Valentine her company and my court:

28But fearing lest my jealous aim might err

29And so unworthily disgrace the man,

30A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,

31I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find

32That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.

33And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,

34Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,

35I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,

36The key whereof myself have ever kept;

37And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

38Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean

39How he her chamber-window will ascend

40And with a corded ladder fetch her down;

41For which the youthful lover now is gone

42And this way comes he with it presently;

43Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.

44But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly

45That my discovery be not aimed at;

46For love of you, not hate unto my friend,

47Hath made me publisher of this pretence.

48Upon mine honour, he shall never know

49That I had any light from thee of this.

50Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming.

51Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?

52Please it your grace, there is a messenger

53That stays to bear my letters to my friends,

54And I am going to deliver them.

55Be they of much import?

56The tenor of them doth but signify

57My health and happy being at your court.

58Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;

59I am to break with thee of some affairs

60That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.

61'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought

62To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.

63I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match

64Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman

65Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities

66Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:

67Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?

68No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,

69Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,

70Neither regarding that she is my child

71Nor fearing me as if I were her father;

72And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,

73Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;

74And, where I thought the remnant of mine age

75Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,

76I now am full resolved to take a wife

77And turn her out to who will take her in:

78Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;

79For me and my possessions she esteems not.

80What would your Grace have me to do in this?

81There is a lady in Verona here

82Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy

83And nought esteems my aged eloquence:

84Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor--

85For long agone I have forgot to court;

86Besides, the fashion of the time is changed--

87How and which way I may bestow myself

88To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

89Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:

90Dumb jewels often in their silent kind

91More than quick words do move a woman's mind.

92But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

93A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.

94Send her another; never give her o'er;

95For scorn at first makes after-love the more.

96If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,

97But rather to beget more love in you:

98If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;

99For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.

100Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;

101For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away!'

102Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;

103Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.

104That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,

105If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

106But she I mean is promised by her friends

107Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,

108And kept severely from resort of men,

109That no man hath access by day to her.

110Why, then, I would resort to her by night.

111Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe,

112That no man hath recourse to her by night.

113What lets but one may enter at her window?

114Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,

115And built so shelving that one cannot climb it

116Without apparent hazard of his life.

117Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,

118To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,

119Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,

120So bold Leander would adventure it.

121Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,

122Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

123When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.

124This very night; for Love is like a child,

125That longs for every thing that he can come by.

126By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

127But, hark thee; I will go to her alone:

128How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

129It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it

130Under a cloak that is of any length.

131A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

132Ay, my good lord.

133Then let me see thy cloak:

134I'll get me one of such another length.

135Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

136How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?

137I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.

138What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!

139And here an engine fit for my proceeding.

140I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.

141'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,

142And slaves they are to me that send them flying:

143O, could their master come and go as lightly,

144Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying!

145My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them:

146While I, their king, that hither them importune,

147Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them,

148Because myself do want my servants' fortune:

149I curse myself, for they are sent by me,

150That they should harbour where their lord would be.'

151What's here?

152'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.'

153'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.

154Why, Phaeton,--for thou art Merops' son,--

155Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car

156And with thy daring folly burn the world?

157Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?

158Go, base intruder! overweening slave!

159Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,

160And think my patience, more than thy desert,

161Is privilege for thy departure hence:

162Thank me for this more than for all the favours

163Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee.

164But if thou linger in my territories

165Longer than swiftest expedition

166Will give thee time to leave our royal court,

167By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love

168I ever bore my daughter or thyself.

169Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;

170But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence.

171And why not death rather than living torment?

172To die is to be banish'd from myself;

173And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her

174Is self from self: a deadly banishment!

175What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?

176What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?

177Unless it be to think that she is by

178And feed upon the shadow of perfection

179Except I be by Silvia in the night,

180There is no music in the nightingale;

181Unless I look on Silvia in the day,

182There is no day for me to look upon;

183She is my essence, and I leave to be,

184If I be not by her fair influence

185Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive.

186I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:

187Tarry I here, I but attend on death:

188But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

189Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

190Soho, soho!

191What seest thou?

192Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head

193but 'tis a Valentine.

194Valentine?

195No.

196Who then? his spirit?

197Neither.

198What then?

199Nothing.

200Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?

201Who wouldst thou strike?

202Nothing.

203Villain, forbear.

204Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,--

205Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.

206My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news,

207So much of bad already hath possess'd them.

208Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,

209For they are harsh, untuneable and bad.

210Is Silvia dead?

211No, Valentine.

212No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.

213Hath she forsworn me?

214No, Valentine.

215No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.

216What is your news?

217Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

218That thou art banished--O, that's the news!--

219From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend.

220O, I have fed upon this woe already,

221And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

222Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

223Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom--

224Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force--

225A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:

226Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;

227With them, upon her knees, her humble self;

228Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them

229As if but now they waxed pale for woe:

230But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,

231Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,

232Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;

233But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.

234Besides, her intercession chafed him so,

235When she for thy repeal was suppliant,

236That to close prison he commanded her,

237With many bitter threats of biding there.

238No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st

239Have some malignant power upon my life:

240If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,

241As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

242Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,

243And study help for that which thou lament'st.

244Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

245Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;

246Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.

247Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that

248And manage it against despairing thoughts.

249Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;

250Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd

251Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.

252The time now serves not to expostulate:

253Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate;

254And, ere I part with thee, confer at large

255Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.

256As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,

257Regard thy danger, and along with me!

258I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,

259Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate.

260Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

261O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!

262I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to

263think my master is a kind of a knave: but that's

264all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now

265that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a

266team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who

267'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, I

268will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet

269'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis

270a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for

271wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel;

272which is much in a bare Christian.

273Here is the cate-log of her condition.

274'Imprimis: She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse

275can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only

276carry; therefore is she better than a jade. 'Item:

277She can milk;' look you, a sweet virtue in a maid

278with clean hands.

279How now, Signior Launce! what news with your

280mastership?

281With my master's ship? why, it is at sea.

282Well, your old vice still; mistake the word. What

283news, then, in your paper?

284The blackest news that ever thou heardest.

285Why, man, how black?

286Why, as black as ink.

287Let me read them.

288Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read.

289Thou liest; I can.

290I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?

291Marry, the son of my grandfather.

292O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy

293grandmother: this proves that thou canst not read.

294Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.

295There; and St. Nicholas be thy speed!

296[Reads] 'Imprimis: She can milk.'

297Ay, that she can.

298'Item: She brews good ale.'

299And thereof comes the proverb: 'Blessing of your

300heart, you brew good ale.'

301'Item: She can sew.'

302That's as much as to say, Can she so?

303'Item: She can knit.'

304What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when

305she can knit him a stock?

306'Item: She can wash and scour.'

307A special virtue: for then she need not be washed

308and scoured.

309'Item: She can spin.'

310Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can

311spin for her living.

312'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.'

313That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; that,

314indeed, know not their fathers and therefore have no names.

315'Here follow her vices.'

316Close at the heels of her virtues.

317'Item: She is not to be kissed fasting in respect

318of her breath.'

319Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.

320'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.'

321That makes amends for her sour breath.

322'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.'

323It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.

324'Item: She is slow in words.'

325O villain, that set this down among her vices! To

326be slow in words is a woman's only virtue: I pray

327thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue.

328'Item: She is proud.'

329Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot

330be ta'en from her.

331'Item: She hath no teeth.'

332I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.

333'Item: She is curst.'

334Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.

335'Item: She will often praise her liquor.'

336If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I

337will; for good things should be praised.

338'Item: She is too liberal.'

339Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she

340is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that

341I'll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and

342that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

343'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults

344than hairs, and more wealth than faults.'

345Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, and not

346mine, twice or thrice in that last article.

347Rehearse that once more.

348'Item: She hath more hair than wit,'--

349More hair than wit? It may be; I'll prove it. The

350cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it

351is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit

352is more than the wit, for the greater hides the

353less. What's next?

354'And more faults than hairs,'--

355That's monstrous: O, that that were out!

356'And more wealth than faults.'

357Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well,

358I'll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is

359impossible,--

360What then?

361Why, then will I tell thee--that thy master stays

362for thee at the North-gate.

363For me?

364For thee! ay, who art thou? he hath stayed for a

365better man than thee.

366And must I go to him?

367Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long

368that going will scarce serve the turn.

369Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love letters!

370Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an

371unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into

372secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction.

1Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you,

2Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.

3Since his exile she hath despised me most,

4Forsworn my company and rail'd at me,

5That I am desperate of obtaining her.

6This weak impress of love is as a figure

7Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat

8Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.

9A little time will melt her frozen thoughts

10And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.

11How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman

12According to our proclamation gone?

13Gone, my good lord.

14My daughter takes his going grievously.

15A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.

16So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.

17Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee--

18For thou hast shown some sign of good desert--

19Makes me the better to confer with thee.

20Longer than I prove loyal to your grace

21Let me not live to look upon your grace.

22Thou know'st how willingly I would effect

23The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.

24I do, my lord.

25And also, I think, thou art not ignorant

26How she opposes her against my will

27She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.

28Ay, and perversely she persevers so.

29What might we do to make the girl forget

30The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio?

31The best way is to slander Valentine

32With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent,

33Three things that women highly hold in hate.

34Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate.

35Ay, if his enemy deliver it:

36Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken

37By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.

38Then you must undertake to slander him.

39And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:

40'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,

41Especially against his very friend.

42Where your good word cannot advantage him,

43Your slander never can endamage him;

44Therefore the office is indifferent,

45Being entreated to it by your friend.

46You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it

47By ought that I can speak in his dispraise,

48She shall not long continue love to him.

49But say this weed her love from Valentine,

50It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.

51Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,

52Lest it should ravel and be good to none,

53You must provide to bottom it on me;

54Which must be done by praising me as much

55As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.

56And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,

57Because we know, on Valentine's report,

58You are already Love's firm votary

59And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.

60Upon this warrant shall you have access

61Where you with Silvia may confer at large;

62For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,

63And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you;

64Where you may temper her by your persuasion

65To hate young Valentine and love my friend.

66As much as I can do, I will effect:

67But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;

68You must lay lime to tangle her desires

69By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes

70Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.

71Ay,

72Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.

73Say that upon the altar of her beauty

74You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:

75Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears

76Moist it again, and frame some feeling line

77That may discover such integrity:

78For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,

79Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,

80Make tigers tame and huge leviathans

81Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

82After your dire-lamenting elegies,

83Visit by night your lady's chamber-window

84With some sweet concert; to their instruments

85Tune a deploring dump: the night's dead silence

86Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.

87This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

88This discipline shows thou hast been in love.

89And thy advice this night I'll put in practise.

90Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,

91Let us into the city presently

92To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.

93I have a sonnet that will serve the turn

94To give the onset to thy good advice.

95About it, gentlemen!

96We'll wait upon your grace till after supper,

97And afterward determine our proceedings.

98Even now about it! I will pardon you.

1Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.

2If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.

3Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye:

4If not: we'll make you sit and rifle you.

5Sir, we are undone; these are the villains

6That all the travellers do fear so much.

7My friends,--

8That's not so, sir: we are your enemies.

9Peace! we'll hear him.

10Ay, by my beard, will we, for he's a proper man.

11Then know that I have little wealth to lose:

12A man I am cross'd with adversity;

13My riches are these poor habiliments,

14Of which if you should here disfurnish me,

15You take the sum and substance that I have.

16Whither travel you?

17To Verona.

18Whence came you?

19From Milan.

20Have you long sojourned there?

21Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd,

22If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

23What, were you banish'd thence?

24I was.

25For what offence?

26For that which now torments me to rehearse:

27I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;

28Bu t yet I slew him manfully in fight,

29Without false vantage or base treachery.

30Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so.

31But were you banish'd for so small a fault?

32I was, and held me glad of such a doom.

33Have you the tongues?

34My youthful travel therein made me happy,

35Or else I often had been miserable.

36By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,

37This fellow were a king for our wild faction!

38We'll have him. Sirs, a word.

39Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery.

40Peace, villain!

41Tell us this: have you any thing to take to?

42Nothing but my fortune.

43Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,

44Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth

45Thrust from the company of awful men:

46Myself was from Verona banished

47For practising to steal away a lady,

48An heir, and near allied unto the duke.

49And I from Mantua, for a gentleman,

50Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.

51And I for such like petty crimes as these,

52But to the purpose--for we cite our faults,

53That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;

54And partly, seeing you are beautified

55With goodly shape and by your own report

56A linguist and a man of such perfection

57As we do in our quality much want--

58Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,

59Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you:

60Are you content to be our general?

61To make a virtue of necessity

62And live, as we do, in this wilderness?

63What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort?

64Say ay, and be the captain of us all:

65We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee,

66Love thee as our commander and our king.

67But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.

68Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd.

69I take your offer and will live with you,

70Provided that you do no outrages

71On silly women or poor passengers.

72No, we detest such vile base practises.

73Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews,

74And show thee all the treasure we have got,

75Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

1Already have I been false to Valentine

2And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.

3Under the colour of commending him,

4I have access my own love to prefer:

5But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,

6To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

7When I protest true loyalty to her,

8She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;

9When to her beauty I commend my vows,

10She bids me think how I have been forsworn

11In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved:

12And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,

13The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,

14Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,

15The more it grows and fawneth on her still.

16But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,

17And give some evening music to her ear.

18How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?

19Ay, gentle Thurio: for you know that love

20Will creep in service where it cannot go.

21Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

22Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

23Who? Silvia?

24Ay, Silvia; for your sake.

25I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,

26Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

27Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly: I

28pray you, why is it?

29Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.

30Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where

31you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.

32But shall I hear him speak?

33Ay, that you shall.

34That will be music.

35Hark, hark!

36Is he among these?

37Ay: but, peace! let's hear 'em.

38SONG.

39Who is Silvia? what is she,

40That all our swains commend her?

41Holy, fair and wise is she;

42The heaven such grace did lend her,

43That she might admired be.

44Is she kind as she is fair?

45For beauty lives with kindness.

46Love doth to her eyes repair,

47To help him of his blindness,

48And, being help'd, inhabits there.

49Then to Silvia let us sing,

50That Silvia is excelling;

51She excels each mortal thing

52Upon the dull earth dwelling:

53To her let us garlands bring.

54How now! are you sadder than you were before? How

55do you, man? the music likes you not.

56You mistake; the musician likes me not.

57Why, my pretty youth?

58He plays false, father.

59How? out of tune on the strings?

60Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very

61heart-strings.

62You have a quick ear.

63Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.

64I perceive you delight not in music.

65Not a whit, when it jars so.

66Hark, what fine change is in the music!

67Ay, that change is the spite.

68You would have them always play but one thing?

69I would always have one play but one thing.

70But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on

71Often resort unto this gentlewoman?

72I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he loved

73her out of all nick.

74Where is Launce?

75Gone to seek his dog; which tomorrow, by his

76master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

77Peace! stand aside: the company parts.

78Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead

79That you shall say my cunning drift excels.

80Where meet we?

81At Saint Gregory's well.

82Farewell.

83Madam, good even to your ladyship.

84I thank you for your music, gentlemen.

85Who is that that spake?

86One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,

87You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.

88Sir Proteus, as I take it.

89Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.

90What's your will?

91That I may compass yours.

92You have your wish; my will is even this:

93That presently you hie you home to bed.

94Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man!

95Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,

96To be seduced by thy flattery,

97That hast deceived so many with thy vows?

98Return, return, and make thy love amends.

99For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,

100I am so far from granting thy request

101That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,

102And by and by intend to chide myself

103Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

104I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;

105But she is dead.

106[Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it;

107For I am sure she is not buried.

108Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend

109Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,

110I am betroth'd: and art thou not ashamed

111To wrong him with thy importunacy?

112I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.

113And so suppose am I; for in his grave

114Assure thyself my love is buried.

115Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

116Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence,

117Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.

118[Aside] He heard not that.

119Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,

120Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,

121The picture that is hanging in your chamber;

122To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep:

123For since the substance of your perfect self

124Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;

125And to your shadow will I make true love.

126[Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure,

127deceive it,

128And make it but a shadow, as I am.

129I am very loath to be your idol, sir;

130But since your falsehood shall become you well

131To worship shadows and adore false shapes,

132Send to me in the morning and I'll send it:

133And so, good rest.

134As wretches have o'ernight

135That wait for execution in the morn.

136Host, will you go?

137By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

138Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

139Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost

140day.

141Not so; but it hath been the longest night

142That e'er I watch'd and the most heaviest.

1This is the hour that Madam Silvia

2Entreated me to call and know her mind:

3There's some great matter she'ld employ me in.

4Madam, madam!

5Who calls?

6Your servant and your friend;

7One that attends your ladyship's command.

8Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.

9As many, worthy lady, to yourself:

10According to your ladyship's impose,

11I am thus early come to know what service

12It is your pleasure to command me in.

13O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman--

14Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not--

15Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd:

16Thou art not ignorant what dear good will

17I bear unto the banish'd Valentine,

18Nor how my father would enforce me marry

19Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.

20Thyself hast loved; and I have heard thee say

21No grief did ever come so near thy heart

22As when thy lady and thy true love died,

23Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.

24Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,

25To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;

26And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,

27I do desire thy worthy company,

28Upon whose faith and honour I repose.

29Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,

30But think upon my grief, a lady's grief,

31And on the justice of my flying hence,

32To keep me from a most unholy match,

33Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.

34I do desire thee, even from a heart

35As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,

36To bear me company and go with me:

37If not, to hide what I have said to thee,

38That I may venture to depart alone.

39Madam, I pity much your grievances;

40Which since I know they virtuously are placed,

41I give consent to go along with you,

42Recking as little what betideth me

43As much I wish all good befortune you.

44When will you go?

45This evening coming.

46Where shall I meet you?

47At Friar Patrick's cell,

48Where I intend holy confession.

49I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.

50Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.

1When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,

2look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a

3puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or

4four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it.

5I have taught him, even as one would say precisely,

6'thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver

7him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master;

8and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he

9steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg:

10O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself

11in all companies! I would have, as one should say,

12one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be,

13as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had

14more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did,

15I think verily he had been hanged for't; sure as I

16live, he had suffered for't; you shall judge. He

17thrusts me himself into the company of three or four

18gentlemanlike dogs under the duke's table: he had

19not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but

20all the chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog!' says

21one: 'What cur is that?' says another: 'Whip him

22out' says the third: 'Hang him up' says the duke.

23I, having been acquainted with the smell before,

24knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that

25whips the dogs: 'Friend,' quoth I, 'you mean to whip

26the dog?' 'Ay, marry, do I,' quoth he. 'You do him

27the more wrong,' quoth I; ''twas I did the thing you

28wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out

29of the chamber. How many masters would do this for

30his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the

31stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had

32been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese

33he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't.

34Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the

35trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam

36Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I

37do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg and make

38water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? didst

39thou ever see me do such a trick?

40Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well

41And will employ thee in some service presently.

42In what you please: I'll do what I can.

43I hope thou wilt.

44How now, you whoreson peasant!

45Where have you been these two days loitering?

46Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

47And what says she to my little jewel?

48Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you

49currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

50But she received my dog?

51No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him

52back again.

53What, didst thou offer her this from me?

54Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from me by

55the hangman boys in the market-place: and then I

56offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of

57yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

58Go get thee hence, and find my dog again,

59Or ne'er return again into my sight.

60Away, I say! stay'st thou to vex me here?

61A slave, that still an end turns me to shame!

62Sebastian, I have entertained thee,

63Partly that I have need of such a youth

64That can with some discretion do my business,

65For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,

66But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,

67Which, if my augury deceive me not,

68Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth:

69Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.

70Go presently and take this ring with thee,

71Deliver it to Madam Silvia:

72She loved me well deliver'd it to me.

73It seems you loved not her, to leave her token.

74She is dead, belike?

75Not so; I think she lives.

76Alas!

77Why dost thou cry 'alas'?

78I cannot choose

79But pity her.

80Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?

81Because methinks that she loved you as well

82As you do love your lady Silvia:

83She dreams of him that has forgot her love;

84You dote on her that cares not for your love.

85'Tis pity love should be so contrary;

86And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!'

87Well, give her that ring and therewithal

88This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady

89I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.

90Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,