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. Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ? Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

l'al. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know’st her not?

Speed. Is she not hard-favored, sir ? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favored. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. What dost thou know? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well-favored. 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.

Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty.
Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.
Val. How long hath she been deformed ?
Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful.

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.

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 enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves.

Speed. And have you?
Val. I have.
Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them :-
Peace, here she comes.

Enter SILVIA. Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! now will he interpret to her.

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

Speed. O, 'give you good even! here's a million of manners.

[Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him.

Val. As you enjoined 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.

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

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.

What met you w

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 SILVIA. Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As à 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.
Val. I would, it were no worse.

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,
Herself 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.

Val. I have dined.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat: 0, 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 PANTIINO. Pant. Sir Proteus, you 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 sourest-natured 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; — oh, 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, (0, that she could speak now !) like a wood 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.

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 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?

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

Laun. Lose the tide, 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.

Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan. Wilt thou go?
Laun. Well, I will go.