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? Pal. 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. I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; O, could their master come and go as lightly, [reads. Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying, My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them, While I, their king, that thither them impórtune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because myself do want my servant's fortune: I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour 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.- And with thy daring folly burn the world? Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Will give thee time to leave our royal court, Begone, 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 tor ment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; Enter Proteus and Launce. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Pro. What seest thou? Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom wouldst 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 stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 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 vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd, O, that's the news; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd? Pro. 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 them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe: But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Val. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st, Have some malignant power upon my life: Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : * Grief. 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 horses 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 cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimus, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter Speed. Speed. How now, Signor Launce, what news with your mastership? Laun. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word: what news then in your paper? Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Laun. Why, as black as ink. Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. Speed. Thou liest, I can. Laun. I will try thee: tell me this: who begot thee? Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. Laun. There; and Saint Nicholas * be thy speed! Speed. Imprimus, She can milk. Laun. Ay, that she can. Speed. Item, She brews good ale. *St. Nicholas presided over young scholars. |