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Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool!
Pros.

Go to; away!
Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.
Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin.
Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your

train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which –

I'll waste
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away,

the story of my life,
And the particular accidents gone by
Since I came to this isle: and in the morn
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-belov'd solemnizėd;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.

Alon.
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.
Pros.

I'll deliver all;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off. - [Aside to Ari.] My Ariel, - chick, -
That is thy charge: then to the elements
Be free, and fare thou well! — Please you, draw

(Exeunt.

I long

near.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY PROSPERO.

'tis true,

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own, -
Which is most faint: now,
I must be here confin'd by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have

my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my

bands With the help of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours my

sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As
you

from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

THE

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Duke of Milan.

PANTHINO, servant to Antonio. ANTONIO.

Host.
PROTEUS, his son.

Outlaws.
VALENTINE.
THURIO.
EGLAMOUR.

SILVIA, daughter to the Duke. SPEED, servant to Valentine.

JULIA. LAUNCE, servant to Proteus.

LUCETTA, her waiting-woman.

Servants, Musicians. SCENE In Verona; in Milan; and in a forest near Milan,

ACT I.
SCENE I. Verona. An open place in the city.

Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS.
Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were't not affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!

Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply see'st
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.
Val. And on a love-book

pray

for
my

success?
Pro. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love;
How
young

Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love;
For he was more than over shoes in love.

Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Pro. Over the boots! nay, give me not the boots.
Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
Pro.

What?
Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.
Pro. "Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you:
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inbabits in the finest wits of all.
Vai.

And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit

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