ACT I.

SCENE I. An open Place in Verona.
Enter Valentine and Proteus.

Val. CEASE to persuade, my loving Proteus;
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits:
Wer'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, seest
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 bead's-man, 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 Heliespont.
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'll not, for it boots thee not.

Pro.

Val.

Once more adien my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.

At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters,
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine,

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!
Val. As much to you at home! and so, farewell!

Exit.

What?

To be

Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd.

In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks,
With heart-sore sighs; one fading 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
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. 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
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shali go hard, but I'il prove it t by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me therefore, I am no sheep.

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee therefore, thou art a sheep.

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to Julia?

Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, r, a laced matton; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost matton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store of muttons.

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray; 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pin-fold.

Luc. Madam, dinner's ready and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go.

Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after

Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:

Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

Jul. I see, you have a month's mind to them. Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [Exeun (Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in Antonio's House.
Enter Antonio and Panthino.

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
Ant. Why, what of him?

Pan.

He wonder'd, that your lordship

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home;
While other men, of slender reputation,
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some, to discover islands far away;
Some, to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises,
He said, that Proteus, your son was meet:
And did request me, to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age,
In having known no trouble in his youth.

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time;
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world.
Experience is by industry achiev'd,

perfected by the swift course of time:
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
Pan. I think, your lordship is not ignorant,
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.

[thither:

Ant. I know it well. Pan. "Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen; And be in eye of every exercise,

Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd: And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known;

Even with the speediest execution

I will despatch him to the emperor's court.
Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,

With other gentlemen of good esteem,
Are journeying to salute the emperor,
And to commend their service to his will.

Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: And, in good time, now will we break with him.

Enter Proteus.

Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart:
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn:
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
O heavenly Julia!

Ant. How now? what letter are you reading there?
Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendation sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.

Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd, And daily graced by the emperor; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will,

And not depending on his friendly wish.

Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish: Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court; What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.

No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.-
Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pan.
Pro. Thus havel shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning;
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd:
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter,
Lest he should take exceptions to my love;
And with the vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine :--
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah Silvia! Silvia!

Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia!
Val. How now, sirrah!

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her?
Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
Val. Well, you'll still

you'll still be too forward.
Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.
Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia?
Speed. She that your worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Speed. Marry, by these special marks: First, you have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a male-content; to relish a love-song, like a robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A. B. C; to weep, like a voung wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Haliowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to wak like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.

Val. Are all these things perceived in me?
Speed. They are all perceived without you.
Val. Without me? they cannot.

Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you were so simple, none else would but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady.

ial. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at

supper?

Val. Hast thou observ'd that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and

yet knowest her not?

Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir?

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.

Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favoured.

Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. Val. How painted and how out of count?

on your hose.

val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter, Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship.

[done.

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For, being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much: And yet,

Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel; And yet I will not name it:-and yet I care not;And yet take this again;-and yet I thank you; Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Aside.

Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: But since unwillingly, take them again; Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request; But I will none of them; they are for you:

I would have had them writ more movingly.

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over: And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

Val. If it please me, madam! what then? Sil. Why, if it p'ease you, take it for your labour; [Exit.

And so good morrow, servant.

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!

My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my master, being scribe, to himself should write

the letter?

Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the

reason.

Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.

Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me.

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive 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.
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and

there an end.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon 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 the tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should';

[Exit Julia.

Julia, farewell. What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Enter Panthino.

Pan. Sir Proteus, y u are staid for.
Pro. Go; I come, I come:-

Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. A Street.
Enter Launce, leading a Dog.

Laun. 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 sourestnatured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her 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 pobble-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 woodwoman; -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.

Enter Panthino.

Pan. 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 will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.

Pan. What's the unkindest tide ?

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the food; 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?

Laun. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
Pan. Where should I lose my tongue?
Laun. In thy tale.

begin.

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil. Who is that, servant?

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.

Enter Duke.

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son?

Val. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father.

Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew him as myself: for from our infancy We have convers'd, and spent our hours together: And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time,

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection;
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;

His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow),
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love,

As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time awhile:
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

Silvia,

1

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth; via, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio For Valentine, I need not cite him to it: I'll send him hither to you presently.

[Exit.

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.

[still.

Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,

How could he see his way to seek out you?

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;

Upon a homely object love can wink.

you,

Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

Sil, Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant

To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

Val. Leave off discourse of disability:Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed; Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome?

Pro.

No; that you are worthless.
Enter Servant.

Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak
with you.
Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant.
Come, sir Thurio,

Go with me: Once more, new servant, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

[Excunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? [commended. Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much Val. And how do yours! Pro.

Val. How does your lady love?

I left them all in health. and how thrives your

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know, you joy not in a love-discourse.

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in reven revenge of my contempt of love,