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Val. Without me? they cannot.

Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,

But for my duty to your ladyship. [ Giving a paper.
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerk-

Speed. Without you; nay, that's certain; for, without you were so simple, none else would be: but you are so without these follies, that these follies arely done. within you, and shine through you like the water in Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; an urinal, that not an eye that sees you, but is a phy-For, being ignorant to whom it goes, sician to comment on your malady.

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

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

I writ at random, very doubtfully.

[pains? Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 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:

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, And yet I will not name it;—and yet I care not ;and yet know'st her not.

Speed. Is she not hard-favor'd, sir?

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favor'd.

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) wellfavor'd.

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

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

Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man 'counts of her beauty.

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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.

[ Giving it back.

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 please you, take it for your labor: And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit. Speed. O jest! unseen, inscrutable, invisible, Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a still I see her beautiful.

Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty.

Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd.
Val. How long hath she been deform'd?

Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val. Why?

Speed. Because love is blind. O! that you had mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going ungartered!

Val. What should I see then?

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity; for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

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Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves.

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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 woos 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?

an

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 deliver'd, and there
e end.

Val. I would it were no worse!
For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty,
Speed.
I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind
discover,

Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto

her lover.

All this I speak in 'print, for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time.

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Val. I have dined. Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd 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.

you this.

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. 1 Pro. Why then, we'll make exchange: here, take 2[Exchange rings. 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 thy 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.

Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come.Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Street.

Enter LAUNCE, leading his Dog.

Launce. 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 pebble-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 wild woman:-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.

a Kindred.

Enter PANTHINO.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

Launce. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; 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?

Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant. Where should I lose my tongue?
Launce. In thy tale.

Pant. In thy tail?

Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide. Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call thee.

Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pant. Wilt thou go?

Launce. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S

Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPECd.

Sil. Servant.

Val. Mistress.

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress, then.

Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I that I am not?
Val. Wise.

Thu. What instance of the contrary?
Val. Your folly.

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Thu. And how quote you my folly?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well, then, 'twill double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change color? Val. Give him leave, madam: he is a kind of cameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. [begin. Val. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you 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

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Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: What say you to a letter from your friends Of much good news? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman To be of wealth, 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 honor 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 a feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

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.

That you are worthless.

3 Re-enter THURIO.

Thu. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak with you.

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: 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.

[Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.

Val. And how do yours?
Pro.

I left them all in health. Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? 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 revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.

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 a-while.
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth.
Silvia, 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 DUKE.
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 you out?

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.

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O, gentle Proteus! love's a mighty lord,
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so?

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon. Val. Call her divine. Pro. I will not flatter her. Val. O flatter me, for love delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not divine, Yet let her be a principality,

Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress.
Val.
Sweet, except not any,
Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her, too:
She shall be dignified with this high honor,-
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
And, of so great a favor growing proud,
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
Disdain to root the summer-smelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing

"No woe to," i. e., no misery that can be compared with. "To his service," i. e., compared with his service."Principality," i. e., an angel of the first order.

To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing.
She is alone.
Pro.

Then, let her alone.

Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, Because thou seest me dote upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along, and I must after, For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Pro. But she loves you?

[marriage hour, Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our With all the cunning manner of our flight Determin'd of: how I must climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted, and 'greed on for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth. I must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use, And then I'll presently attend on you. Val. Will you make haste?

Pro. I will.—

[Exit VALENTINE.

Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine own, or Valentino's praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ?
She's fair, and so is Julia that I love ;-
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd,
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
O! but I love his lady too, too much;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
"Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled so my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.

с

SCENE V.-The Same. A Street.

[Exit.

Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always-that a man is never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia? Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Launce. No.

Speed. How then? Shall he marry her? Launce. No, neither.

Haven." With more advice," i. e., on further knowl edge." Her picture," i. c., her exterior form.-"Her perfections," i, e., the perfections of her mind.

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Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. [one. Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Launce. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover? Launce. I never knew him otherwise.

Speed. Than how?

[to be. Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the alehouse: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.

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Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;

To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury:

Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear.
O sweet-suggesting love! if 3 I have sinn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose :
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most precious to itself;
And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her fair!)
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,

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SCENE VII.-Verona. A Room in JULIA's House.
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me:
And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee,
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,

To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honor, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps,
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.

[food?

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's Pity the dearth that I have pined in, By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wide ocean. Then, let me go, and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along? Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men. Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: To be fantastic, may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be.

e

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your

breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as-" tell me, good my lord,

Confederate.- Intended. Teach; instruct. -d Trouble. "Of greater time," i. e., of more pretension,

What compass will you wear your 'farthingale ?" Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favor'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. But, tell me, wench, how will the world repute me For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not,
Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone.
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear.
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect;
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to
him!

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth: Only deserve my love by loving him, And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my loving journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation; Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come; answer not, but to it presently: I am impatient of my starriance.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-chamber in the DUKE'S

Palace.

Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal; But, when I call to mind your gracious favors Done to me, undeserving as I am,

My duty pricks me on to utter that,

Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made privy to the plot.

I know you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head

Hoop petticoat.-s Delay:

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