Anthonio, Father to Protheus. Thurio, a foolish Rival to Valentine. Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. Launce, the like to Protheus. Panthion, Servant to Anthonio. Julia, a Lady of Verona, beloved of Protheus. Silvia, the Duke of Milan's Daughter belov'd of Valentine Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia. Servants, Muficians. The SCENE, fometimes in Verona; fometimes in Milan; and on the Frontiers of Mantua. THE THE TWO GENTLEMEN O F (1) VERONA. A C T I. SCENE, an open Place in Verona. C VALENTINE. EASE to perfuade, my loving Protheus; To the fweet glances of thy honour'd love, I (1) Mr. Pope has obferv'd, that the ftile of this Comedy is lefs figurative, and more natural and unaffected, than the greater part of Our Author's plays, tho' fuppos'd to be one of the first he wrote. muft obferve, too, that as I take it to be one of his very worst, it happens to be freeft from accidental corruptions of the Editors: which is the reafon, that my notes are fewer on this; than on any one of his other pieces. H4 Wear Wear out thy youth with fhapelefs idleness. Pro. Wilt thou be gone? fweet Valentine, adieu; When thou doft meet good hap; and in thy danger, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayer; Pro. That's a deep ftory of a deeper love; Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never fwom the Hellefpont. Pro. Over the boots: nay, give me not the boots. (2) Val. No, I will not; for it boots thee not. Pro. What? Val. To be in love, where fcorn is bought with groans: Coy looks, with heart-fore fighs; one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights. Pro. So, by your circumftance, you call me fool. (2) nay, give me not the boots.] A proverbial expreffion, tho' now difus'd, fignifying, don't make a laughing stock of me; don't play The French have a phrafe, Bailler foin en corne; which Cosgrave thus interprets, To give one the bouts; to fell him a bargain. upon me. Methinks, Methinks, fhould not be chronicled for wife. Val. And writers fay, as the most forward bud Even fo by love the young and tender wit Once more, adieu: my father at the road Made me Enter Speed. Speed. Sir Protheus, fave you; faw you my master? Pro. But now he parted hence, t'embark for Milan. Speed. Twenty to one then he is fhipp'd already, And I have play'd the sheep in lofing him. Pro. Indeed, a fheep doth very often stray, An if the fhepherd be awhile away. Speed. You conclude that my mafter is a fhepherd then, and I a fheep. Pro. I do. |