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 shunned,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.
And, that thou may’st 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 conveyed away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised 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 honor, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming.

[Exit.
Enter VALENTINE.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Val. 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?

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

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while ; 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.

Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honorable ; besides, the gentleman 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 cherished by her childlike duty,
I now am full resolved 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.
· Val. What would your grace have me to do in this?

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here,
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court:
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed :)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words ;
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.'

Val. A woman sometimes 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' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke But she I mean, is promised by her friends
t'nto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.

Duke. Ay, but the doors be locked, and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night.

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window ?

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

Val. 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.

Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.

Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by.

Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ?
Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke.

Then let me see thy cloak; I'll get me one of such another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ?I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.What letter is this same? 'What's here?—To Silvia! And here an engine fit for my proceeding ? I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. My thoughts do harbor with my Silvia nightly ;

And slaves they are to me, that send them flying : 0, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;

While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blessed them,

Because myself do want my servants' fortune :
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
That they should harbor where their lord should be.
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 thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think my patience, more than thy desert,

While 1, their kinh thy pure bosom mey are lying

Is privilege for thy departure hence:
Thank me for this, more than for all the favors
Which, all too much, I have bestowed 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
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit DUKE.
Val. And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banished from myself;
And Silvia is myself; banished 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,
There is no music in the nightingale;
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
Fostered, illumined, cherished, 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.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho! so-ho!
Pro. What seest 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 spirit?
l'al. Neither.
Pro. What then?
Val. Nothing.
Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike
Pro. Whom would'st thou strike?
Laun. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you — Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear: Friend Valentine, a word.

Val. My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possessed them..

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untunable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead ?
Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !-
Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

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

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanished.

Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the newsFrom hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend.

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

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom, (Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force,) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tendered; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for wo: 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 chafed him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Val. 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 dolor.

Pro, Cease to lament for that thou can’st 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;