The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

you begin.

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

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant?

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company.

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, Sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare

words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.

deserves

The honour and regard of such a father.

Duke. You know him well?

var. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy [gether: We have convers'd, and spent our hours toAnd though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time, To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection; Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days; His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word, (for far behind his worth

+ Perhaps.

‡ Observe.

[Exit DUKK

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your lady ship,

Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd Upon some other pawn for fealty. [them Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of

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

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus!-Mistress, 1 beseech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,

If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him

To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a

servant

To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability :-
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed;
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mis-

tress.

Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself.
Sil. That you are welcome?
Pro. No; that you are worthless.

Enter SERVANT.

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

Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit SER. Come, Sir Thurio, [come: Go with me:-Once more, new servant, welI'll leave you to confer of home affairs; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

* Serious.

* IU betide,

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them | Pro. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:

much commended.

O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,

Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

Pro. Enough; I read ycur fortune in your eye:

Was this the idol that you worship so?

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly
saint?

Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon.
Val. Call her divine.

Pro. I will not flatter her.

Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter And I must minister the like to you.

[pills;

Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not

Yet let her be a principality,
[divine,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress.

Val. Sweet, except not any;

Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour,

To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is

this?

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies noShe is alone. [thing;

Pro. Then let her alone.

Val. Not for the world: why man, she is

mine own;

And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along; and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro. But she loves you ?

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd;

Nay, more, our marriage hour,

With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window;
The ladder made of cords; and all the means
Plotted; and greed on, for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel,

I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val. Will you make haste?
Pro. I will.-

[Exit VAL.

Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love ;-
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
O! 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,*
That thus without advice begin to love her?
Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit.

SCENE V.-The same. -A Street.
Enter SPEED and LAUNCE.

Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan.

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I am not welcome. I reckon this always that a man is never undone, till he be hanged;

nor never welcome to a
shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.

place, till some certain

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of fivepence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest
they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him?
Laun. No.

Speed. How then? Shall he marry her?
Laun. No, neither.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with

them?

Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with

him, it stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand

thee not.

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not? My staff understands me. Speed. What thou say'st?

Laun. Ay and what I do too: look thee, I'll

but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one.

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.

Speed. "Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce,

O sweet-suggesting* love, if thou hast sinn'd,
Teach me, thy thy tempted tempt subject, to excuse it.

At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will

To learn his wit to exchange the bad for bet-
ter.-

Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With 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:

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend;

For love is still more precious than itself:

Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta gentle girl, assist me
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,-
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,-
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To 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,
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.

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

Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot
But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire;
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou danı'st* it up, the more
it burns;

The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth

rage;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
[stones,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And 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, t
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men:
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.
Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your
hair.

Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings,

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair! With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:

Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,

Rememb'ring that my love

to her is dead;

To be fantastic may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make
your breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as" tell me, good my

lord, "What compass will you wear your farthingale?" [cetta. Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lu Luc. You must needs have them with a cod

Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Without some treachery used to Valentine :--
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor :†
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceed-Unless

ing.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!
[Exit.

• Tempting. + Confederate, $ Intended,

piece, madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd.

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

you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute

me,

*Closest.

† Trouble.

For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.

Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing lest my jealous aim* might err,

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
go not.
Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are
gone:

1 fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base
effect!

But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from
earth.

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

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that

We have some secrets to confer about.-
[Exit THURIO.
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would
discover,

me?

[me.

Sir Valentine, my friend,

(ter;

The law of friendship bids me to conceal:
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from
Know, worthy prince,
This night intends to steal away your daugh-
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you
down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke. Proteus, care;

I thank thee for thine honest

Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep;
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid

• Longed for.

(A I gave rashness him gentle that I looks, ever yet thereby have shunn'd,)

to find

That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou mav'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a

mean

How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.§
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never

know

That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adicu, my lord; Sir Valentine is com-
ing.
[Exit.

Enter VALENTINE.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Val. Please it your grace there is a messenger

That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a
while;

I am to break with thee of some affairs,
That touch me near, wherein thou must be

secret.

'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the
match
[man
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentle-
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen,
froward,

Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither 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,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like
duty,

I now am full resolved to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Val. What would your grace have me to do
in this?

Duke. There is a lady, Sir, in Milan here,
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court:
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respec? not
words;

* Guess. † Tempted. ‡ Guessed. Design.

graces;

Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels'

faces.

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her

friends

Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe,

That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window?

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground;

And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of

cords,

To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

Val. When would you use it? pray, Sir, tell me that.

Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

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

Under a cloak, that is of any length.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve

Val.

the turn?

Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak;

I'll get me one of such another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my

lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?

I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.What letter is this same? What's here?-To

Silvia?

And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.

[Reads.

My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying.

* Hinders.

Because myself do want my servants' fortune: I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should What's here?

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:

[be,

'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose :Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son) Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on

thee?

Go, base intruder! overweening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think, my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be gone, I will now hear thy vain excuse,
But as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from
hence.
[Exit DUKE.
Val. And why not death, rather than living

torment?

To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
Tarry I here, Í but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho! so-ho!

Pro. What seest thou?

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair

on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

« Previous Continue »

Books