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النشر الإلكتروني

Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they fhine on thee?
Go, bafe intruder! over-weening flave!
Beftow thy fawning fmiles on equal mates;
And think, my patience, more than thy defert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence :

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have beftow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,

Longer than fwifteft expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heav'n, 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.

SCENE III.

[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 fhe is by;
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufic in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my effence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherifh'd, kept alive.
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

Enter Protheus and Launce.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

Laun. So-ho! fo-ho!

Pro. What feest 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 fpirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? mafter, shall I strike?
Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing; I pray you,—
Pro. I fay, forbear: friend Valentine, a word.
Val. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news;
So much of bad already hath possest them.
Pro. Then in dumb filence will I bury mine;
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for facred Silvia! 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 va-
nifh'd.

Pro. That thou art banifh'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 stands in effectual force,

A

A

A fea of melting pearl, which fome call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet fhe 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 Sire;
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 prison 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. Ceafe to lament for that thou canst not help,
And ftudy help for that which thou lament'ft.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good:
Here if thou stay, thou canst not fee thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's ftaff; walk hence with that;
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, tho' thou art hence,
Which, being writ to me, fhall be deliver'd
Ev'n in the milk-white bofom of thy love.
The time now ferves not to expoftulate;
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't Silvia, tho' not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an' if thou feest my boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the north-gate.

Pro.

Pro. Go, Sirrah, find him out: come, Valentine. dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!

Val. O

my

Laun.

I

[Exeunt Valentine and Protheus.

SCENE

IV.

Am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my mafter is a kind of a knave: but that's all one, if he be but one kind. 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 milk-maid; yet'tis not a maid, for she hath had goffips; yet 'tis a maid, for fhe is her master's maid, and serves for wages: fhe hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel, which is much in a bare chriftian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions; Imprimis, fhe can fetch and carry; why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore fhe is better than a jade. Item, fhe can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed.

Speed. How now, fignior Launce? what news with your maftership?

Laun. With my mafter's fhip? why, it is at fea. Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; mistake the word: what news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as ink.

Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fie, on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read. Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?

Speed.

Speed. Marry, the son of my grand-father.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer, it was the fon of thy grand-mother; this proves, that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper. Laun. There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed! Speed. Imprimis, she can milk.

Laun. Ay, that she can.

Speed. Item, the brews good ale.

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed, Item, fhe can fowe.

Laun. That's as much as to say, Can fhe fo?

Speed. Item, fhe can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a flock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock !

Speed. Item, fhe can wash and scour.

Laun. A fpecial virtue, for then she need not to be wafh'd and fcour'd.

Speed. Item, fhe can spin,

Laun. Then may I fet the world on wheels, when fhe can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, fhe hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, Baftard Virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.

Speed. Here follow her vices.

Laun. Clofe at the heels of her virtues.

Speed. Item, fhe is not to be kift fafting, in respect

of her breath.

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfaft: read on.

Speed. Item, fhe hath a sweet mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her four breath.
Speed. Item, fhe doth talk in her fleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, fo fhe fleep not in her talk.

Speed. Item, fhe is flow in words.

Laun. O villain! that fet down among her vices!

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