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you write to yourself? Why, do you not per- | crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her ceive 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.
Val. I would it were no worse.
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, 170
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.
Val. I have dined.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals and would fain have meat. O! be not like your mistress: be moved, be moved. Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Verona. A Room in JULIA's House. Enter PROTEUS and JULIA.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Jul. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
Giving a ring. Pro. Why, then we'll make exchange: here, take you this.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! My father stays my coming; answer not. The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should. Julia, farewell. Exit JULIA.
What! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak ; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
SCENE III.-The Same. A Street.
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 pebble 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, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on 't! there 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog; 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 she could speak now like a wood 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.
Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! you'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.
Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
Pant. What's the unkindest tide?
Launce. Why, he that 's tied 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? 51 Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Launce. In thy tale.
Pant. In thy tail!
Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping: all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister
SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S
Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Sil. Servant!
Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you
Come all the praises that I now bestow,
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been
Duke. Welcome him then according to his
20 Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio:
Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?
Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of chameleon.
Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air.
Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
My lord, I will be thankful
Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman
Val. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves
Val. I know him as myself; for from our infancy
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Val. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
That you are worthless.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Madam, my lord your father would speak
Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Exit Servant.
Pro. Your friends are well and have them
Val. And how do yours?
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. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing. She is alone.
Then let her alone.
Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel
Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our marriage-hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
I must unto the road, to disembark
Erit 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 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.
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 always, that a man is never undone till he be hanged; nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say, 'Welcome!'
Speed. Come on, you madcap, 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 closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him?
Speed. How then? Shall he marry her?
Speed. What, are they broken?
Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?
Launce. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.
Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My staff understands me.
Speed. What thou sayest?
Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Launce. Why, stand-under and under stand is all one.
Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match? Launce. 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. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.
Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.
Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the alehouse, so; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why?
Launce. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?
Speed. At thy service.
SCENE VI.- The Same. An Apartment in the DUKE'S Palace.
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn: To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And even that power which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury: Love bade me swear and love bids me forswear. O sweet-suggesting love! if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted 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 better. 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.
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
And Silvia-witness heaven that made her fair!
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembering that my love to her is dead;
I cannot now prove constant to myself
By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!
SCENE VII.-Verona. A Room in JULIA'S
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.
Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; And e'en 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 Protens make return. Jul. O know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
The current that with gentle murmur glidės,
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,
Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your
Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
SCENE I.-Milan. An Antechamber in the
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.
Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover
The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
I know you have determin'd to bestow her
A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Which to requite, command me while I live.
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'damean 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.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? 51 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 tenour of them doth but signify My health and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay then, no matter: stay with me awhile.
I am to break with thee of some affairs That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought e To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. Val. I know it well, my lord; and sure, the match
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Duke. There is a lady of Verona here,
| And nought esteems my aged eloquence: Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor,