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“Or else for want of idle time, could not again re

ply; “Or fearing else some messenger, that might her

mind discover, “Her self 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 cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourishi'd by my victuals, and would lain have meat. O! 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'er-slips 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 thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should.

(Erit 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 Panthino.
Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.
Pro.

Go; I come, I come.Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

(E.reunt.

Nan, our maid: I am the dog ;-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog.–0! 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, por speaks a word, but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter PanTuino. Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard : thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man! Away, ass; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

Punt. What's the unkindest ride?
Launce. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog.

Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the food; 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?

Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant. Where should I lose my tongue !
Launce. In thy tale.
Pant. In thy tail ?

Launce. Lose the tied, 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.

Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call thee.

Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pant. Wilt thou go?
Launce. Well, I will go.

[Ereunt.

SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace,

SCENE III.-The Same. A Streel.

Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. Launce. 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 cruelhearted 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 inother;—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

Enter VALENTINE, Silvia, THURIO, and Speed.
Sil. Servant.
Val. Mistress.
Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.
Val. Of my mistress, then.
Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not ?
Val. Haply, I do.
Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.
Thu. What seem I that I am not?
Val. Wise.
Thu. What instance of the contrary?
Val. Your folly.
Thu. And how quote you my folly ?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.
Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour ?

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Val. Give him leave, madam: he is a kind of Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoncameleon.

ers still. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blood, than live in your air.

blind, Val. You have said, sir.

How could he see his way to seek out you? Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Val. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. begin.

Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and Upon a homely object love can wink. quickly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

Enter PROTEUS. Sil. Who is that, servant ?

Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire.

gentleman.

(Exit Thurio. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's Val. Welcome, dear Proteus !-Mistress, I belooks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer Val. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. that they live by your bare words.

Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes To have a look of such a worthy mistress. my father.

Val. Leave off discourse of disability.

Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Enter the Duke.

Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health :

Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. What say you to a letter from your friends

Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Of much good news?

Sil. That you are welcome?
Val.
My lord, I will be thankful Pro.

That you are worthless.
To any happy messenger from thence.
Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country-

Enter THURIO. man ?

Thu. Madam. my lord, your father, would speak Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estirpation,

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: come, sir Thurio, And not without desert so well reputed.

Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome : Duke. Hath he not a son?

I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs; Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves When you have done, we look to hear from you. The honour and regard of such a father.

Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. Duke. You know him well ?

[Ereunt Silvia, TAURIO, and SPEED. Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:

came? And though myself have been an idle truant,

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much Omitting the sweet benefit of time

commended. To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,

Val. And how do yours? Y et hath sir Proteus, for that's his name,

Pro.

I left them all in health. Made use and fair advantage of his days:

Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your His years but young, but his experience old;

love? His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: And, in a word, (for far behind his worth

I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Come all the praises that I now bestow,)

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: He is complete in feature, and in mind,

I have done penance for contemning love; With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, With bitter fasts, with penitential groaps, He is as worthy for an empress' love,

With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.

For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me

Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, With commendation from great potentates;

And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. Apd here he means to spend his time a-while. O, gentle Proteus! love's a mighty lord, I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. There is no woe to his correction,

Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth. Silvia, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio :- Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it.

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, I'll send him hither to you presently. (Exit DUKE. Upon the very naked name of love.

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. Had come along with me, but that his mistress Was this the idol that you worship so ? Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint ? Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon. Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Val. Call her divine.

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Pro. I will not flatter her.
Val. O! flatter me, for love delights in praises.

Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,
And I must minister the like to you.
Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not

divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

Pro. Except my mistress.

Val. Sweet, except not any,
Except thou wilt except against my love.

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

Val. And I will help thee io prefer her 100: She shall be dignified with this high honour,To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies no

thing. She is alone.

Pro. Then, let her alone.
Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine

own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for bis possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

Pro. But she loves you?
Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our

marriage hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window,
The ladder made of cords, and all the means
Plotted, and 'greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth.
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use,
And then I'll presently attend you.

Val. Will you make haste ?
Pro. I will.

[Erit VALENTINE.
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair, and so is Julia that I love ;-
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd,
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not, as I was wont
O! but I love his lady too too much;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,

Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan.

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always—that a man is never undone, till he be hang'd ; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia ?

Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry him?
Launce. No.
Speed. How then? Shall he marry her ?
Launce. No, neither.
Speed. What, are they broken?
Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish.

Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?

Launce. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not.

Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou say'st ?

Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me.

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match ?

Launce. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will.

Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so.

But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

Launce. I never knew him otherwise.
Speed. Than how?

Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st

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me.

Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

Launce. Why, 1 tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the alehouse: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.

Speed. Why?

Launce. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? Speed. At thy service.

[Excunt.

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SCENE VI.—The Same. An Apartment in the

Palace.

Enter PROTEUS. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be sorsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And even that power, which gave me first my

oath, Provokes me to this threefold perjury : Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear. O sweet-suggesting love! if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend, For love is still most precious in itself; And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her air!) Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself Without some treachery used to Valentine. This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window; Myself in counsel, his competitor. Now, presently I'll give her father notice of their disguising, and pretended flight; Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit.

Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it

burns. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then, let me go, and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along ?

Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men. Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your

hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : To be fantastic, may become a youth Or greater time than I shall show to be. Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your

breeches ? Jul. That fits as well, as—"tell me, good my

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lord,

SCENE VII.- Verona. A Room in Julia's House.

Enter Julia and LUCETTA. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me: And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engravid, To lesson me; and tell me some good mean, How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps, Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul. O! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's

food ?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,

What compass will you wear your farthingale ?" Why, even what fashion thou best lik’st, Lucetta.

Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, inadam, now's not worth a

pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me For undertaking so unstaid a journey? I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go

not. Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
Jf Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone.
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear.
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances of infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect; But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come

to him! Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,

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SCENEI.-Milan. An Antc-chamber in the Duke's And with a corded ladder fetch her down ;
Palace.

For which the youthful lover now is gone,

And this way comes be with it presently,
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.

Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile: But, good my lord, do it so cuppingly,
We have some secrets to confer about.-

That my discovery be not aimed at;

[Erit Thurio. For love of you, not hate upto my friend, Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Pro My gracious lord, that which I would dis- Duke. Upon mine honour he shall never know cover,

That I had any light from thee of this. The law of friendship bids me to conceal;

Pro. Adieu, my lord : sir Valentine is coming. But, when I call to mind your gracious favours

[Erit. Done to me, undeserving as I am,

Enter VALENTINE. My duty pricks me on to utter that, Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger This night intends to steal away your daughter: That stays to bear my letters to my friends, Myself am one made privy to the plot.

And I am going to deliver them.
I know, you have determind to bestow her

Duke. Be they of much import?
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; Val. The tenor of them doth but signify
And should she thus be stol'n away from you, My health, and happy being at your court.
It would be much vexation to your age.

Duke. Nay, then no matter : stay with me awhile. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose

I am to break with thee of some affairs To cross my friend in his intended drift,

That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. Than, by concealing it, heap on your head

'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,

match Which to requite, command me while I live. Were rich and honourable: besides, the gentleman This love of theirs myself have often seen,

Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Haply, when they have judgd me fast asleep, Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid

Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? Sir Valentine her company, and my court;

Duke. No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen, froBut, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,

ward, And so unworthily disgrace the man,

Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; (A rashness that I ever yet have shunned,) Neither regarding that she is my child, I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find

Nor fearing me as if I were her father : That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, Upon advice bath drawn my love from her; Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, And, where I thought the remnant of mine age I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,

Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, The key whereof myself have ever kept;

I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

And turn her out to who will take her in: Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; How he her chamber-window will ascend,

For me and my possessions she esteems not.

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