The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

My gracious lord, that which I would discover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal; But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am,

[me.

My duty pricks me on to utter that,
Which else no worldly good should draw from
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
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke.

Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court; But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, And so unworthily disgrace the man, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd) I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou mays't perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept; And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Proteus.

Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently,
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.

Duke.

Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this.

Proteus.

Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is coming.

Exit.

Please it your grace, there is a messenger

That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.

Duke.

Be they of much import ?

Valentine.

The tenor of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your court.

Duke.

Nay, then no matter: stay with me awhile.
I am to break with thee of some affairs
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.

Valentine.

I know it well, my lord; and sure, the match Were rich and honourable: besides, the gentle

man

Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke.

No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father: And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers Upon advice hath drawn my love from her; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her child-like [duty, I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in: Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower; For me and my possessions she esteems not.

But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
Valentine.

A woman sometime scorns what best contents
[her.
Send her another; never give her o'er,
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone,
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For, "get you gone," she doth not mean, "away."
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels'

Duke.

Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

Valentine,

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

Duke.

Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

Valentine.

I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Begone: 1 will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from
hence.
[Exit Duke.
Valentine.
And why not death, rather than living tor-
To die is to be banish'd from myself,
[ment?
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment.
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,

When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me There is no music in the nightingale;

that.

Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon.
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'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 Proteus and Launce.

Ay, my good lord.

Duke.

Then, let me see thy cloak:

head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Silvia?"

My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;
While I, their king, that thither them impor-
[bless'd them,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath
Because myself do want my servants' fortune.
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
[be."
That they should harbour where their lord should
What's here?

"Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:"
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.-
Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son,)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on
Go, base intruder; over-weening slave: [thee?
Bestow thy fawning smiles 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 swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love

Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?

Whom wouldst thou strike?

Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,

Valentine

No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!What is your news?

Launce.

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

Proteus.

That thou art banish'd: O! that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. Valentine.

O! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Proteus.

Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became As if but now they waxed pale for woe: [them, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire, But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Valentine.

No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Proteus.

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate: 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'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me.

I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one, if he be but one knave. 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 gossips: yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cate-log