Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court;
Befides, the fashion of the time is chang'd)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her fun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if the refpect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their filent kind,

More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
Duke. But fhe did fcorn a prefent that I fent her.
Val. A woman fcorns fometimes what beft contents
her:

Send her another; never give her o'er;
For fcorn at firft makes after-love the more,
If fhe do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If the do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ;
For why, the fools are mad if left alone.
Take no repulfe, whatever the doth fay;
For, get you gone, fhe doth not mean, away:
Flatter, and praife, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er fo black, fay, they have angels' faces,
That man that hath a tongue, I fay, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke. But the I mean, is promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;

And kept feverely from refort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

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

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 fo fhelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

the fashion of the time-] The modes of courtship, the acts by which men recommended themselves to ladies. JOHNSON. • What lets,] i. e. what hinders, STEEVENS.

Val. Why, then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, To caft up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would ferve to fcale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it.

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

Val. When would you ufe it? pray, fir, 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 feven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But hark thee; I will go to her alone; How fhall I beft 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 ferve the turn? Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me fee thy cloak

I'll get me one of fuch another length,

Val. Why, any cloak will ferve the turn, my lord,
Duke. How fhall I fashion me to wear a cloak?-
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
What letter is this fame? what's here?-To Silvia?
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!

I'll be fo bold to break the feal for once. [Duke reads.
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And flaves they are to me, that fend them flying:
Oh, could their mafter come and go as lightly,

Himfelf would lodge, where fenfeless they are lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bojom reft them;
While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curfe the grace that with fuch grace hath blefs'd them,
Because myself do want my fervant's fortune:

I curfe myself, for they are fent by me,

That they should harbour where their lord would be.

for they are fent by me,] For is the fame as for that, fince.

JOHNSON.

What's

8

What's here? Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee:
"Tis fo; and here's the ladder for the purpose.-
Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' fon)
Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach ftars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening flave!
Beftow thy fawning fmiles 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 swifteft expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath fhall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excufe,

But, as thou lov'ft thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit.

Val. And why not death, rather than living tor

ment?

To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is felf from felf; a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not feen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,

Merops' fon)] Thou art Phaeton in thy rashness, but without his pretenfions; thou art not the son of a divinity, but a terra filius, a low born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaeton was falfely reproached. JOHNSON.

This fcrap of mythology Shakespeare might have found in the fpurious play of K. John, 1591, 1611, and 1622:

66

as fometime Phacton

"Miftrufting filly Merops for his fire."

Or in Robert Greene's Orlando Furiofo, 1594:

"Why foolish, hardy, daring, fimple groom,

"Follower of fond conceited Phaeton, &c." STEEVENS.

And

And feed upon the fhadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon;
She is my fence; and I leave to be,
If I be noty her fair influence

Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
9 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter Protheus and Launce.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and feek him out.
Laun. So-ho! fo-ho!

Pro. What feeft thou?

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair On's head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? mafter, shall I strike? Pro. Whom would't thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Launc. Why, fir, I'll ftrike nothing: I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I fay, forbear: Friend Valentine, a

word.

Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good

news,

9 I fly not death, to fy his deadly doom:] To fly his doom, ufed for by flying, or in flying, is a gallicifm. The fenfe is, By avoiding the execution of his fentence I fhall not efcape death. If I stay here, I fuffer myself to be destroyed; if I go away, I destroy myfelf. JOHNSON.

So

So much of bad already hath poffefs'd them.
Pro. Then in dumb filence will I bury mine,
For they are harfh, untuneable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for facred ilvia !— Hath fhe forfworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forfworn me!What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd.

Pro. That thou art banish'd, oh, that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already,

And now excefs of it will make me furfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and fhe hath offer'd to the doom,
(Which unrevers'd, ftands in effectual force)
A fea of melting pearl, which fome call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet the tender'd;
With them, upon her knees, her humble felf;
Wringing her hands, whofe whitenefs fo became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe:

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad fighs, deep groans, nor filver-fhedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate fire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, muft die.
Befides, her interceffion chaf'd him fo,
When the for thy repeal was fuppliant,
That to close prifon he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Val. No more; unless the next word, that thou
fpeak'ft,

Have fome malignant power upon my life:
If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro