Enter Panthino.

Val. How now, sir! what, are you reasoning with yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have
Val. To do what?
[the reason.
Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia.
Val. To whom?
Speed. To yourself.

Why, she woos you by a Val. What figure? [figure. Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.

Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.

Val. I would it were no worse! Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well: "For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty,

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

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

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

All this I speak in print, for in print I found Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time. [it. Val. I have din'd.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

VERONA. A ROOM IN JULIA'S HOUSE.
Enter Proteus and Julia.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the

sooner.

Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a Ring. Pro. Why then, we'll make exchange: here, take you this.

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true con

stancy;

And when that hour o'erslips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness.
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now;-nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should.
[Exit Julia.
Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to
grace it.

SCENE III.-THE SAME. A STREET.

Enter Launce, leading his dog Crab. Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pibble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog; a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting: why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father;-no, this left shoe is my father:-no, no, this left shoe is my mother;-nay, that cannot be so, neither:-yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe is my mother, and this my father. A veng'ance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand; this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog;-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,-O! the dog is me, and I am myself: ay; so, so. Now come I to my father:-"Father, your blessing." Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father: well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother:-O! that shoe could speak now, like an wood1 woman. Well, I kiss her: why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now, the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word: but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter Panthino.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.

L. It is no matter if the ti'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ti'd that ever any man ti'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

L. Why he that's ti'd here; Crab, my dog.

Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-why dost thou stop my mouth? L. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Launce. In thy tale.

Pant. In thy tail?

L. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide. Why,

1 Mad

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of

you.

Val. Of my mistress, then.

Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu, Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I that I am not?
Val. Wise.

Thu. What instance of the contrary?
Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change colour?

Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of

cameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you begin.

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

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

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

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

Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.

Enter the Duke.

D. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: What say you to a letter from your friends, Of much good news?

Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence.

D. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son ?

V. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well?

[fancy Val. I know him, as myself; for from our inWe have convers'd, and spent our hours together: And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow),
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this
He is as worthy for an' empress' love, [good,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a while.
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

V. Should I have wished a thing, it had been he.
D. Welcome him, then, according to his worth.
Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio:-
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it.
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke.

V.This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd Upon some other pawn for fealty.

[them,

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

[blind,

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being How could he see his way to seek out you?

Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that Love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object, Love can wink.

Enter Proteus.

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

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus !-Mistress, I beseech you,

Confirm his welcome with some special favour. S. 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 mistress. 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. [Sir Thurio, Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: [Exit Ser.] come, Go with me.-Once more, new servant, welcome: I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

P. Your friends are well, and have them much Val. And how do yours? [commended. Pro. I left them all in health. [love? Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: I know, you joy not in a love discourse.

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now: I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, [me With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's O, gentle Proteus! Love's a mighty lord, [sorrow. 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 your 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 pills; And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not divine, Yet let her be a principality,

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.

P. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this! Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worth as noShe is alone. [thing.

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.
Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth.
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 Valentine.
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 her mien, 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,1
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.

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this alwaysthat a man is never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome,

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

Launce. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry him?
Launce. No.

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

Speed. What, are they broken?

Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.

Acquaintance.

But tell me, wench, how will the world repute
For undertaking so unstaid a journey? [me
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and
Jul. Nay, that I will not.
[go 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.
I 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 ine 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 heav'n from earth. [come to him! Luc. Pray heav'n he prove so, when you Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that To bear a hard opinion of his truth: [wrong, Only deserve my love by loving him; And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation; Only in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come; answer not, but to it presently: I am impatient of my tarriance.

Act Third.

SCENE I.-MILAN.

[Exeunt.

AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE DUKE'S PALACE.

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. D. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while: We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit Thurio. Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would disThe law of friendship bids me to conceal; [cover, 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 me. Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter: 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 stol'n 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.

D. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid

Sir Valentine her company, and my court;
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,
And so unworthily disgrace the man
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd),
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find'
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'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.

P. 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. Adieu, my lord: Sir Valentine is coming.
[Exit.

Enter Valentine.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Val. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. D. 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.

V. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable: besides, the gentle

man

Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?

D. 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 childlike duty, I now am full resolv'd 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 Duke. There is a lady of Verona, here, [this? 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.

V. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words. Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words do move a woman's mind.