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For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you;
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away!'
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their 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,

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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 everything 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.

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Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

Val. 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.

My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; 140 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. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; While I, their king, that hither them importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them,

Because myself do want my servants' fortune :

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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,
Begone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
Exit.

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 is deadly doom:
Tarry I here, I 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. Launce. Soho! soho!

Pro. What seest thou?

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From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. O! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doomWhich, unrevers'd, stands in effectual forceA sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them

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Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,

And study help for that which thou lament'st.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 250
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
The time now serves not to expostulate :
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate,
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me!

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,

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Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!

Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I. have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a

maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Pulling out a paper.

Here is the cate-log of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter SPEED.

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Speed. How now, Signior Launce! what news with your mastership?

Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is

at sea.

Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper? Launce. The blackest news that ever thou heardest.

Speed. Why, man, how black?
Launce. Why, as black as ink.

Speed. Let me read them.

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Launce. Fie on thee, jolthead! thou canst not read.

Speed. Thou liest; I can.

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

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Launce. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read.

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Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.

Speed. Item, She is slow in words.

Launce. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman's

This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.

Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice.

Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 90 Let us into the city presently

To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.

I have a sonnet that will serve the turn

To give the onset to thy good advice.
Duke. About it, gentlemen!

Second Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take to?

Val. Nothing but my fortune.

Third Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,

Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
Thrust from the company of awful men ;

ACT IV.

Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Forest, between Milan and Verona. Enter certain Outlaws.

First Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a pas

senger.

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

Enter VALENTINE and SPEED.

Third Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you;

If not, we'll make you sit and rifle you.

For practising to steal away a lady,
An heir, and near allied unto the duke.
Second Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentle-

man,

Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. First Out. And I for such like petty crimes as these.

But to the purpose; for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;
And partly, seeing you are beautified
With goodly shape, and by your own report
A linguist and a man of such perfection
As we do in our quality much want-
Second Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd

man,

villains

That all the travellers do fear so much.

Val. My friends,

And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? Third Out. What say'st thou of our consort ?

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wilt thou be

I have access my own love to prefer;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her,
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
She bids me think how I have been forsworn 10
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd:
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her
window,

And give some evening music to her ear.

Enter THURIO, and Musicians.

Thu. How now, Sir Proteus! are you crept before us?

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.

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Thu. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Thu. Who? Silvia ?

Pro.
Ay, Silvia, for your sake.
Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentle-

Host. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em.

SONG.

Who is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair and wise is she;

The heaven such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;

And, being help'd, inhabits there,

Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.

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50

That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.

For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, 100
I am so far from granting thy request

That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,
And by and by intend to chide myself
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
But she is dead.

Jul. Aside. Twere false, if I should speak it; For I am sure she is not buried.

Sil. Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,

I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd
To wrong him with thy importunacy?
Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.
Sil. And so suppose am I; for in his grave
Assure thyself my love is buried.

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Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Sil. Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence; Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. Jul. Aside. He heard not that.

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 120 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your chamber :