Act V. Scene I.


Before the Cell of PROSPERO.
   
 
Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes; and ARIEL.
   
  Pro.  Now does my project gather to a head:   
My charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time      4
Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?   
  Ari.  On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,   
You said our work should cease.   
  Pro.        I did say so,      8
When first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit,   
How fares the king and’s followers?   
  Ari.        Confin’d together   
In the same fashion as you gave in charge;     12
Just as you left them: all prisoners, sir,   
In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;   
They cannot budge till your release. The king,   
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,     16
And the remainder mourning over them,   
Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly   
Him, that you term’d, sir, ‘The good old lord Gonzalo:’   
His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops     20
From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works them,   
That if you now beheld them, your affections   
Would become tender.   
  Pro.        Dost thou think so, spirit?     24
  Ari.  Mine would, sir, were I human.   
  Pro.        And mine shall.   
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling   
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,     28
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,   
Passion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art?   
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,   
Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury     32
Do I take part: the rarer action is   
In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,   
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend   
Not a frown further. Go, release them, Ariel.     36
My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,   
And they shall be themselves.   
  Ari.        I’ll fetch them, sir.  [Exit.   
  Pro.  Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;     40
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot   
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him   
When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that   
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make     44
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime   
Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice   
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,—   
Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm’d     48
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,   
And ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault   
Set roaring war: to the dread-rattling thunder   
Have I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oak     52
With his own bolt: the strong-bas’d promontory   
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck’d up   
The pine and cedar: graves at my command   
Have wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let them forth     56
By my so potent art. But this rough magic   
I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d   
Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,—   
To work mine end upon their senses that     60
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,   
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,   
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,   
I’ll drown my book.  [Solemn music.     64
 
Re-enter ARIEL: after him, ALONSO, with a frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO: they all enter the circle which PROSPERO had made, and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO observing, speaks.
   
A solemn air and the best comforter   
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,   
Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,     68
For you are spell-stopp’d.   
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,   
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine,   
Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;     72
And as the morning steals upon the night,   
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses   
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle   
Their clearer reason.—O good Gonzalo!     76
My true preserver, and a loyal sir   
To him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces   
Home, both in word and deed.—Most cruelly   
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:     80
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;—   
Thou’rt pinch’d for’t now, Sebastian.—Flesh and blood,   
You, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,   
Expell’d remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,—     84
Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,—   
Would here have kill’d your king; I do forgive thee,   
Unnatural though thou art!—Their understanding   
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide     88
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores   
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them   
That yet looks on me, or would know me.—Ariel,   
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell:—  [Exit ARIEL.     92
I will discase me, and myself present,   
As I was sometime Milan.—Quickly, spirit;   
Thou shalt ere long be free.   
 
ARIEL re-enters, singing, and helps to attire PROSPERO.
     96
  Ari.
           Where the bee sucks, there suck I
   In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
   There I couch when owls do cry.
   On the bat’s back I do fly
   After summer merrily:
   Merrily, merrily shall I live now
   Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
   
  Pro.  Why, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;   
But yet thou shalt have freedom;—so, so, so.—   
To the king’s ship, invisible as thou art:    100
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep   
Under the hatches; the master and the boat-swain   
Being awake, enforce them to this place,   
And presently, I prithee.    104
  Ari.  I drink the air before me, and return   
Or e’er your pulse twice beat.  [Exit.   
  Gon.  All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement   
Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us    108
Out of this fearful country!   
  Pro.        Behold, sir king,   
The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.   
For more assurance that a living prince    112
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;   
And to thee and thy company I bid   
A hearty welcome.   
  Alon.        Whe’r thou beest he or no,    116
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,   
As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse   
Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,   
Th’ affliction of my mind amends, with which,    120
I fear, a madness held me: this must crave,—   
An if this be at all—a most strange story.   
Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat   
Thou pardon me my wrongs.—But how should Prospero    124
Be living, and be here?   
  Pro.        First, noble friend,   
Let me embrace thine age; whose honour cannot   
Be measur’d, or confin’d.    128
  Gon.        Whether this be,   
Or be not, I’ll not swear.   
  Pro.        You do yet taste   
Some subtilties o’ the isle, that will not let you    132
Believe things certain.—Welcome! my friends all:—   
[Aside to SEB. and ANT.] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,   
I here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you,   
And justify you traitors: at this time    136
I will tell no tales.   
  Seb.  [Aside.] The devil speaks in him.   
  Pro.        No.   
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother    140
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive   
Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require   
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know,   
Thou must restore.    144
  Alon.        If thou beest Prospero,   
Give us particulars of thy preservation;   
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since   
Were wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,—    148
How sharp the point of this remembrance is!—   
My dear son Ferdinand.   
  Pro.        I am woe for’t, sir.   
  Alon.  Irreparable is the loss, and patience    152
Says it is past her cure.   
  Pro.        I rather think   
You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace,   
For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,    156
And rest myself content.   
  Alon.        You the like loss!   
  Pro.  As great to me, as late; and, supportable   
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker    160
Than you may call to comfort you, for I   
Have lost my daughter.   
  Alon.        A daughter?   
O heavens! that they were living both in Naples,    164
The king and queen there! that they were, I wish   
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed   
Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?   
  Pro.  In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords    168
At this encounter do so much admire   
That they devour their reason, and scarce think   
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words   
Are natural breath: but, howsoe’er you have    172
Been justled from your senses, know for certain   
That I am Prospero and that very duke   
Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely   
Upon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed,    176
To be the lord on’t. No more yet of this;   
For ’tis a chronicle of day by day,   
Not a relation for a breakfast nor   
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;    180
This cell’s my court: here have I few attendants   
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.   
My dukedom since you have given me again,   
I will requite you with as good a thing;    184
At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye   
As much as me my dukedom.   
 
The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA playing at chess.
   
  Mira.  Sweet lord, you play me false.    188
  Fer.        No, my dearest love,   
I would not for the world.   
  Mira.  Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,   
And I would call it fair play.    192
  Alon.        If this prove   
A vision of the island, one dear son   
Shall I twice lose.   
  Seb.        A most high miracle!    196
  Fer.  Though the seas threaten, they are merciful:   
I have curs’d them without cause.  [Kneels to ALON.   
  Alon.        Now, all the blessings   
Of a glad father compass thee about!    200
Arise, and say how thou cam’st here.   
  Mira.        O, wonder!   
How many goodly creatures are there here!   
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,    204
That has such people in’t!   
  Pro.        ’Tis new to thee.   
  Alon.  What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play?   
Your eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours:    208
Is she the goddess that hath sever’d us,   
And brought us thus together?   
  Fer.        Sir, she is mortal;   
But by immortal Providence she’s mine;    212
I chose her when I could not ask my father   
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She   
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,   
Of whom so often I have heard renown,    216
But never saw before; of whom I have   
Receiv’d a second life; and second father   
This lady makes him to me.   
  Alon.        I am hers:    220
But O! how oddly will it sound that I   
Must ask my child forgiveness!   
  Pro.        There, sir, stop:   
Let us not burden our remembrances    224
With a heaviness that’s gone.   
  Gon.        I have inly wept,   
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,   
And on this couple drop a blessed crown;    228
For it is you that have chalk’d forth the way   
Which brought us hither!   
  Alon.        I say, Amen, Gonzalo!   
  Gon.  Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue    232
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice   
Beyond a common joy, and set it down   
With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage   
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,    236
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife   
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom   
In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,   
When no man was his own.    240
  Alon.  [To FER. and MIRA.] Give me your hands:   
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart   
That doth not wish you joy!   
  Gon.        Be it so: Amen!    244
 
Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.
   
O look, sir! look, sir! here are more of us.   
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,   
This fellow could not drown.—Now, blasphemy,    248
That swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore?   
Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?   
  Boats.  The best news is that we have safely found   
Our king and company: the next, our ship,—    252
Which but three glasses since we gave out split,—   
Is tight and yare and bravely rigg’d as when   
We first put out to sea.   
  Ari.  [Aside to PRO.] Sir, all this service    256
Have I done since I went.   
  Pro.  [Aside to ARI.] My tricksy spirit!   
  Alon.  These are not natural events; they strengthen   
From strange to stranger.—Say, how came you hither?    260
  Boats.  If I did think, sir, I were well awake,   
I’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,   
And,—how we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches,   
Where, but even now, with strange and several noises    264
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,   
And mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,   
We were awak’d; straightway, at liberty:   
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld    268
Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master   
Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you,   
Even in a dream, were we divided from them,   
And were brought moping hither.    272
  Ari.  [Aside to PRO.] Was’t well done?   
  Pro.  [Aside to ARI.] Bravely, my diligence! Thou shalt be free.   
  Alon.  This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod;   
And there is in this business more than nature    276
Was ever conduct of: some oracle   
Must rectify our knowledge.   
  Pro.        Sir, my liege,   
Do not infest your mind with beating on    280
The strangeness of this business: at pick’d leisure   
Which shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you,—   
Which to you shall seem probable,—of every   
These happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful,    284
And think of each thing well.—[Aside to ARI.] Come hither, spirit;   
Set Caliban and his companions free;   
Untie the spell. [Exit ARI.] How fares my gracious sir?   
There are yet missing of your company    288
Some few odd lads that you remember not.   
 
Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel.
   
  Ste.  Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, for all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, Coragio!   
  Trin.  If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.    292
  Cal.  O Setebos! these be brave spirits, indeed.   
How fine my master is! I am afraid   
He will chastise me.   
  Seb.        Ha, ha!    296
What things are these, my lord Antonio?   
Will money buy them?   
  Ant.        Very like; one of them   
Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.    300
  Pro.  Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,   
Then say, if they be true.—This mis-shapen knave,—   
His mother was a witch; and one so strong   
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,    304
And deal in her command without her power.   
These three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil,—   
For he’s a bastard one,—had plotted with them   
To take my life: two of these fellows you    308
Must know and own; this thing of darkness I   
Acknowledge mine.   
  Cal.        I shall be pinch’d to death   
  Alon.  Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?    312
  Seb.  He is drunk now: where had he wine?   
  Alon.  And Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they   
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them?   
How cam’st thou in this pickle?    316
  Trin.  I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.   
  Seb.  Why, how now, Stephano!   
  Ste.  O! touch me not: I am not Stephano, but a cramp.   
  Pro.  You’d be king of the isle, sirrah?    320
  Ste.  I should have been a sore one then.   
  Alon.  This is a strange thing as e’er I look’d on.  [Pointing to CAL.   
  Pro.  He is as disproportion’d in his manners   
As in his shape.—Go, sirrah, to my cell;    324
Take with you your companions: as you look   
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.   
  Cal.  Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,   
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass    328
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,   
And worship this dull fool!   
  Pro.        Go to; away!   
  Alon.  Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.    332
  Seb.  Or stole it, rather.  [Exeunt CAL., STE., and TRIN.   
  Pro.  Sir, I invite your highness and your train   
To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest   
For this one night; which—part of it—I’ll waste    336
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it   
Go quick away; the story of my life   
And the particular accidents gone by   
Since I came to this isle: and in the morn    340
I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,   
Where I have hope to see the nuptial   
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz’d;   
And thence retire me to my Milan, where    344
Every third thought shall be my grave.   
  Alon.        I long   
To hear the story of your life, which must   
Take the ear strangely.    348
  Pro.        I’ll deliver all;   
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales   
And sail so expeditious that shall catch   
Your royal fleet far off.—[Aside to ARI.] My Ariel, chick,    352
That is thy charge: then to the elements   
Be free, and fare thou well!—Please you, draw near.  [Exeunt.   
 
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by PROSPERO.

           Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
   And what strength I have ’s mine own;
   Which is most faint: now, ’tis true,
   I must be here confin’d by you,
   Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
   Since I have my dukedom got
   And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell
   In this bare island by your spell;
   But release me from my bands
   With the help of your good hands.
   Gentle breath of yours my sails
   Must fill, or else my project fails,
   Which was to please. Now I want
   Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
   And my ending is despair,
   Unless I be reliev’d by prayer,
   Which pierces so that it assaults
   Mercy itself and frees all faults.
   As you from crimes would pardon’d be,
   Let your indulgence set me free.

Act I. Scene I.


Verona. An open place.
   
 
 
Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS.
   
  Val.  Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:   
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.      4
Were’t not affection chains thy tender days   
To the sweet glances of thy honour’d love,   
I rather would entreat thy company   
To see the wonders of the world abroad      8
Than, living dully sluggardiz’d at home,   
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.   
But since thou lov’st, love still, and thrive therein,   
Even as I would when I to love begin.     12
  Pro.  Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!   
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest   
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:   
Wish me partaker in thy happiness     16
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,   
If ever danger do environ thee,   
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,   
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.     20
  Val.  And on a love-book pray for my success?   
  Pro.  Upon some book I love I’ll pray for thee.   
  Val.  That’s on some shallow story of deep love,   
How young Leander cross’d the Hellespont.     24
  Pro.  That’s a deep story of a deeper love;   
For he was more than over shoes in love.   
  Val.  ’Tis true; for you are over boots in love,   
And yet you never swum the Hellespont.     28
  Pro.  Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.   
  Val.  No, I will not, for it boots thee not.   
  Pro.        What?   
  Val.  To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;     32
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment’s mirth   
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:   
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;   
If lost, why then a grievous labour won:     36
However, but a folly bought with wit,   
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.   
  Pro.  So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.   
  Val.  So, by your circumstance, I fear you’ll prove.     40
  Pro.  ’Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.   
  Val.  Love is your master, for he masters you;   
And he that is so yoked by a fool,   
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.     44
  Pro.  Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud   
The eating canker dwells, so eating love   
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.   
  Val.  And writers say, as the most forward bud     48
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,   
Even so by love the young and tender wit   
Is turned to folly; blasting in the bud,   
Losing his verdure even in the prime,     52
And all the fair effects of future hopes.   
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee   
That art a votary to fond desire?   
Once more adieu! my father at the road     56
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp’d.   
  Pro.  And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.   
  Val.  Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.   
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters     60
Of thy success in love, and what news else   
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;   
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.   
  Pro.  All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!     64
  Val.  As much to you at home! and so, farewell.  [Exit.   
  Pro.  He after honour hunts, I after love:   
He leaves his friends to dignify them more;   
I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.     68
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos’d me;—   
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,   
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;   
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.     72
 
 
Enter SPEED.
   
  Speed.  Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?   
  Pro.  But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.   
  Speed.  Twenty to one, then, he is shipp’d already,     76
And I have play’d the sheep, in losing him.   
  Pro.  Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,   
An if the shepherd be a while away.   
  Speed.  You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then, and I a sheep?     80
  Pro.  I do.   
  Speed.  Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.   
  Pro.  A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.   
  Speed.  This proves me still a sheep.     84
  Pro.  True, and thy master a shepherd.   
  Speed.  Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.   
  Pro.  It shall go hard but I’ll prove it by another.   
  Speed.  The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me: therefore I am no sheep.     88
  Pro.  The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.   
  Speed.  Such another proof will make me cry ‘baa.’   
  Pro.  But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?   
  Speed.  Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour.     92
  Pro.  Here’s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.   
  Speed.  If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.   
  Pro.  Nay, in that you are astray; ’twere best pound you.   
  Speed.  Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.     96
  Pro  You mistake: I mean the pound,—a pinfold.   
  Speed.  From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,   
’Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.   
  Pro.  But what said she? [SPEED nods.] Did she nod?    100
  Speed.  Ay.   
  Pro.  Nod, ay? why, that’s noddy.   
  Speed.  You mistook, sir: I say she did nod; and you ask me if she did nod; and I say, Ay.   
  Pro  And that set together is—noddy.    104
  Speed.  Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains.   
  Pro.  No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.   
  Speed.  Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.   
  Pro.  Why, sir, how do you bear with me?    108
  Speed.  Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having nothing but the word ‘noddy’ for my pains.   
  Pro.  Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.   
  Speed.  And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.   
  Pro.  Come, come; open the matter in brief: what said she?    112
  Speed.  Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered.   
  Pro.  Well, sir, here is for your pains [giving him money]. What said she?   
  Speed.  Truly, sir, I think you’ll hardly win her.   
  Pro.  Why? couldst thou perceive so much from her?    116
  Speed.  Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter. And being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she’ll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she’s as hard as steel.   
  Pro.  What! said she nothing?   
  Speed.  No, not so much as ‘Take this for thy pains.’ To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I’ll commend you to my master.   
  Pro.  Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wrack;    120
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,   
Being destin’d to a drier death on shore.—  [Exit SPEED.   
I must go send some better messenger:   
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,    124
Receiving them from such a worthless post.  [Exit.

Act I. Scene II.


The Same. The Garden of JULIA’S House.
   
 
 
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.
   
  Jul.  But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,   
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?      4
  Luc.  Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.   
  Jul.  Of all the fair resort of gentlemen   
That every day with parle encounter me,   
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?      8
  Luc.  Please you repeat their names, I’ll show my mind   
According to my shallow simple skill.   
  Jul.  What think’st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?   
  Luc.  As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;     12
But, were I you, he never should be mine.   
  Jul.  What think’st thou of the rich Mercatio?   
  Luc.  Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.   
  Jul.  What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus?     16
  Luc.  Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!   
  Jul.  How now! what means this passion at his name?   
  Luc.  Pardon, dear madam; ’tis a passing shame   
That I, unworthy body as I am,     20
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.   
  Jul.  Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?   
  Luc.  Then thus,—of many good I think him best.   
  Jul.  Your reason?     24
  Luc.  I have no other but a woman’s reason:   
I think him so because I think him so.   
  Jul.  And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?   
  Luc.  Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.     28
  Jul.  Why, he, of all the rest hath never mov’d me.   
  Luc.  Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.   
  Jul.  His little speaking shows his love but small.   
  Luc.  Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.     32
  Jul.  They do not love that do not show their love.   
  Luc.  O! they love least that let men know their love.   
  Jul.  I would I knew his mind.   
  Luc.        Peruse this paper, madam.  [Gives a letter.     36
  Jul.  ‘To Julia.’—Say from whom?   
  Luc.        That the contents will show.   
  Jul.  Say, say, who gave it thee?   
  Luc.  Sir Valentine’s page, and sent, I think, from Proteus.     40
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way,   
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.   
  Jul.  Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!   
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?     44
To whisper and conspire against my youth?   
Now, trust me, ’tis an office of great worth   
And you an officer fit for the place.   
There, take the paper: see it be return ’d;     48
Or else return no more into my sight.   
  Luc.  To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.   
  Jul.  Will ye be gone?   
  Luc.        That you may ruminate.[Exit.     52
  Jul.  And yet I would I had o’erlook’d the letter.   
It were a shame to call her back again   
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.   
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid,     56
And would not force the letter to my view!   
Since maids, in modesty, say ‘No’ to that   
Which they would have the profferer construe ‘Ay.’   
Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love     60
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse   
And presently all humbled kiss the rod!   
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,   
When willingly I would have had her here:     64
How angerly I taught my brow to frown,   
When inward joy enforc’d my heart to smile.   
My penance is, to call Lucetta back   
And ask remission for my folly past.     68
What ho! Lucetta!   
 
 
Re-enter LUCETTA.
   
  Luc.        What would your ladyship?   
  Jul.  Is it near dinner-time?     72
  Luc.        I would it were;   
That you might kill your stomach on your meat   
And not upon your maid.   
  Jul.  What is’t that you took up so gingerly?     76
  Luc.  Nothing.   
  Jul.  Why didst thou stoop, then?   
  Luc.        To take a paper up   
That I let fall.     80
  Jul.        And is that paper nothing?   
  Luc.  Nothing concerning me.   
  Jul.  Then let it lie for those that it concerns.   
  Luc.  Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,     84
Unless it have a false interpreter.   
  Jul.  Some love of yours hath writ to you in rime.   
  Luc.  That I might sing it, madam, to a tune:   
Give me a note: your ladyship can set.     88
  Jul.  As little by such toys as may be possible;   
Best sing it to the tune of ‘Light o’ Love.’   
  Luc.  It is too heavy for so light a tune.   
  Jul.  Heavy! belike it hath some burden, then?     92
  Luc.  Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.   
  Jul.  And why not you?   
  Luc.        I cannot reach so high.   
  Jul.  Let’s see your song.  [Taking the letter.]     96
How now, minion!   
  Luc.  Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:   
And yet methinks, I do not like this tune.   
  Jul.  You do not?    100
  Luc.        No, madam; it is too sharp.   
  Jul.  You, minion, are too saucy.   
  Luc.  Nay, now you are too flat   
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:    104
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.   
  Jul.  The mean is drown’d with your unruly bass.   
  Luc.  Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.   
  Jul.  This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.    108
Here is a coil with protestation!—  [Tears the letter.   
Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie:   
You would be fingering them, to anger me.   
  Luc.  She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas’d    112
To be so anger’d with another letter.  [Exit.   
  Jul.  Nay, would I were so anger’d with the same!   
O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!   
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey    116
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!   
I’ll kiss each several paper for amends.   
Look, here is writ ‘kind Julia:’ unkind Julia!   
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,    120
I throw thy name against the bruising stones,   
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.   
And here is writ ‘love-wounded Proteus:’   
Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed    124
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal’d;   
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.   
But twice or thrice was ‘Proteus’ written down:   
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away    128
Till I have found each letter in the letter,   
Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear   
Unto a ragged, fearful hanging rock,   
And throw it thence into the raging sea!    132
Lo! here in one line is his name twice writ,   
‘Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,   
To the sweet Julia’:—that I’ll tear away;   
And yet I will not, sith so prettily    136
He couples it to his complaining names:   
Thus will I fold them one upon another:   
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.   
 
 
Re-enter LUCETTA.
    140
  Luc.  Madam,   
Dinner is ready, and your father stays.   
  Jul.  Well, let us go.   
  Luc.  What! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?    144
  Jul.  If you respect them, best to take them up.   
  Luc.  Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;   
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.   
  Jul.  I see you have a month’s mind to them.    148
  Luc.  Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;   
I see things too, although you judge I wink.   
  Jul.  Come, come; will’t please you go?  [Exeunt.

Act I. Scene III.


The Same. A Room in ANTONIO’S House.
   
 
 
Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO.
   
  Ant.  Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that   
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?      4
  Pant.  ’Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.   
  Ant.  Why, what of him?   
  Pant.        He wonder’d that your lordship   
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,      8
While other men, of slender reputation,   
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:   
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;   
Some to discover islands far away;     12
Some to the studious universities.   
For any or for all these exercises   
He said that Proteus your son was meet,   
And did request me to importune you     16
To let him spend his time no more at home,   
Which would be great impeachment to his age,   
In having known no travel in his youth.   
  Ant.  Nor need’st thou much importune me to that     20
Whereon this month I have been hammering.   
I have consider’d well his loss of time,   
And how he cannot be a perfect man,   
Not being tried and tutor’d in the world:     24
Experience is by industry achiev’d   
And perfected by the swift course of time.   
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?   
  Pant.  I think your lordship is not ignorant     28
How his companion, youthful Valentine,   
Attends the emperor in his royal court.   
  Ant.  I know it well.   
  Pant.  ’Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:     32
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,   
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,   
And be in eye of every exercise   
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.     36
  Ant.  I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis’d:   
And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it   
The execution of it shall make known.   
Even with the speediest expedition     40
I will dispatch him to the emperor’s court.   
  Pant.  To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso   
With other gentlemen of good esteem,   
Are journeying to salute the emperor     44
And to commend their service to his will.   
  Ant.  Good company; with them shall Proteus go:   
And in good time:—now will we break with him.   
 
 
Enter PROTEUS.
     48
  Pro.  Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!   
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;   
Here is her oath for love, her honour’s pawn.   
O! that our fathers would applaud our loves,     52
To seal our happiness with their consents!   
O heavenly Julia!   
  Ant.  How now! what letter are you reading there?   
  Pro.  May’t please your lordship, ’tis a word or two     56
Of commendations sent from Valentine,   
Deliver’d by a friend that came from him.   
  Ant.  Lend me the letter; let me see what news.   
  Pro.  There is no news, my lord; but that he writes     60
How happily he lives, how well belov’d   
And daily graced by the emperor;   
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.   
  Ant.  And how stand you affected to his wish?     64
  Pro.  As one relying on your lordship’s will   
And not depending on his friendly wish.   
  Ant.  My will is something sorted with his wish.   
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;     68
For what I will, I will, and there an end.   
I am resolv’d that thou shalt spend some time   
With Valentinus in the emperor’s court:   
What maintenance he from his friends receives,     72
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.   
To-morrow be in readiness to go:   
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.   
  Pro.  My lord, I cannot be so soon provided:     76
Please you, deliberate a day or two.   
  Ant.  Look, what thou want’st shall be sent after thee:   
No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.   
Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ’d     80
To hasten on his expedition.  [Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO.   
  Pro.  Thus have I shunn’d the fire for fear of burning,   
And drench’d me in the sea, where I am drown’d.   
I fear’d to show my father Julia’s letter,     84
Lest he should take exceptions to my love;   
And with the vantage of mine own excuse   
Hath he expected most against my love.   
O! how this spring of love resembleth     88
        The uncertain glory of an April day,   
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,   
        And by and by a cloud takes all away!   
 
 
Re-enter PANTHINO.
     92
  Pant.  Sir Proteus, your father calls for you:   
He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.   
  Pro.  Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto,   
And yet a thousand times it answers, ‘no.’  [Exeunt.96

Act II. Scene I.


Milan. A Room in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter VALENTINE and SPEED.
   
  Speed.  Sir, your glove.  [Offering a glove.   
  Val.        Not mine; my gloves are on.      4
  Speed.  Why, then this may be yours, for this is but one.   
  Val.  Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it’s mine:   
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!   
Ah Silvia! Silvia!      8
  Speed.  [Calling.] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!   
  Val.  How now, sirrah?   
  Speed.  She is not within hearing, sir.   
  Val.  Why, sir, who bade you call her?     12
  Speed.  Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.   
  Val.  Well, you’ll still be too forward.   
  Speed.  And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.   
  Val.  Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?     16
  Speed.  She that your worship loves?   
  Val.  Why, how know you that I am in love?   
  Speed.  Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;   
to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.     20
  Val.  Are all these things perceived in me?   
  Speed.  They are all perceived without ye.   
  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.     24
  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.     28
  Val.  Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not?   
  Speed.  Is she not hard-favoured, sir?   
  Val.  Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.   
  Speed.  Sir, I know that well enough.     32
  Val.  What dost thou know?   
  Speed.  That she is not so fair, as, of you, well-favoured.   
  Val.  I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.   
  Speed.  That’s because the one is painted and the other out of all count.     36
  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 esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.   
  Speed.  You never saw her since she was deformed.     40
  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.     44
  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.     48
  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.     52
  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?     56
  Val.  No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace! here she comes.   
 
 
Enter SILVIA.
   
  Speed.  [Aside.] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! now will he interpret to her.   
  Val.  Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.     60
  Speed.  [Aside.] O! give ye good even: here’s a million of manners.   
  Sil.  Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.   
  Speed.  [Aside.] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.   
  Val.  As you enjoin’d me, I have writ your letter     64
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;   
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in   
But for my duty to your ladyship.  [Gives a letter.   
  Sil.  I thank you, gentle servant. ’Tis very clerkly done.     68
  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?     72
  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,     76
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.   
  Speed.  [Aside.] And yet you will; and yet another yet.   
  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:     80
Nay, take them.  [Gives back the letter.   
  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.     84
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.     88
  Val.  If it please me, madam, what then?   
  Sil.  Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:   
And so, good morrow, servant.  [Exit.   
  Speed.  O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,     92
As a 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,     96
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 riming: ’tis you that have the reason.   
  Val.  To do what?    100
  Speed.  To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia.   
  Val.  To whom?   
  Speed.  To yourself. Why, she wooes you by a figure.   
  Val.  What figure?    104
  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.    108
  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.    112
  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,    116
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.    120
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. O! be not like your mistress: be moved, be moved.  [Exeunt.

Act II. 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.      4
  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.  [Gives him a ring.   
  Pro.  Why, then, we’ll make exchange: here, take you this.  [Gives her another.      8
  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,     12
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;     16
That tide will stay me longer than I should.   
Julia, farewell.  [Exit JULIA.   
                What! gone without a word?   
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;     20
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.     24
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.  [Exeunt.   

Act II. Scene III.


The Same. A Street.
   
 
 
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 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, 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,—O! 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;—O, 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.
      4
  Pant.   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’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.   
  Pant.  What’s the unkindest tide?   
  Launce.  Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog.      8
  Pant.  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?   
  Launce.  For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.   
  Pant.  Where should I lose my tongue?   
  Launce.  In thy tale.     12
  Pant.  In thy tail!   
  Launce.  Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied! 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 darest.     16
  Pant.  Wilt thou go?   
  Launce.  Well, I will go.  [Exeunt.

Act II. Scene IV.


Milan. A Room in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED.
   
  Sil.  Servant!   
  Val.  Mistress?      4
  Speed.  Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.   
  Val.  Ay, boy, it’s for love.   
  Speed.  Not of you.   
  Val.  Of my mistress, then.      8
  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?     12
  Val.  Haply I do.   
  Thu.  So do counterfeits.   
  Val.  So do you.   
  Thu.  What seem I that I am not?     16
  Val.  Wise.   
  Thu.  What instance of the contrary?   
  Val.  Your folly.   
  Thu.  And how quote you my folly?     20
  Val.  I quote it in your jerkin.   
  Thu.  My jerkin is a doublet.   
  Val.  Well, then, I’ll double your folly.   
  Thu.  How?     24
  Sil.  What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?   
  Val.  Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.   
  Thu.  That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air.   
  Val.  You have said, sir.     28
  Thu.  Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.   
  Val.  I know it well, sir: you always end ere you begin.   
  Sil.  A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.   
  Val.  ’Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.     32
  Sil.  Who is that, servant?   
  Val.  Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship’s looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.   
  Thu.  Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.   
  Val.  I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.     36
  Sil.  No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.   
 
 
Enter DUKE.
   
  Duke.  Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.   
Sir Valentine, your father’s in good health:     40
What say you to a letter from your friends   
Of much good news?   
  Val.        My lord, I will be thankful   
To any happy messenger from thence.     44
  Duke.  Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?   
  Val.  Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman   
To be of worth and worthy estimation,   
And not without desert so well reputed.     48
  Duke.  Hath he not a son?   
  Val.  Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves   
The honour and regard of such a father.   
  Duke.  You know him well?     52
  Val.  I know him as myself; for from our infancy   
We have convers’d and spent our hours together:   
And though myself have been an idle truant,   
Omitting the sweet benefit of time     56
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,   
Yet hath Sir Proteus,—for that’s his name,—   
Made use and fair advantage of his days:   
His years but young, but his experience old;     60
His head unmellow’d, but his judgment ripe;   
And, in a word,—for far behind his worth   
Come all the praises that I now bestow,—   
He is complete in feature and in mind     64
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.   
  Duke.  Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,   
He is as worthy for an empress’ love   
As meet to be an emperor’s counsellor.     68
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me   
With commendation from great potentates;   
And here he means to spend his time awhile:   
I think, ’tis no unwelcome news to you.     72
  Val.  Should I have wish’d a thing, it had been he.   
  Duke.  Welcome him then according to his worth.   
Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio:—   
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.     76
I’ll send him hither to you presently.  [Exit.   
  Val.  This is the gentleman I told your ladyship   
Had come along with me, but that his mistress   
Did hold his eyes lock’d in her crystal looks.     80
  Sil.  Belike that now she hath enfranchis’d them   
Upon some other pawn for fealty.   
  Val.  Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.   
  Sil.  Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,     84
How could he see his way to seek out you?   
  Val.  Why, lady, Love hath twenty pairs of eyes.   
  Thu.  They say that Love hath not an eye at all.   
  Val.  To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:     88
Upon a homely object Love can wink.   
  Sil.  Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman.   
 
 
Enter PROTEUS.
   
  Val.  Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,     92
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.   
  Sil.  His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,   
If this be he you oft have wish’d to hear from.   
  Val.  Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him     96
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.   
  Sil.  Too low a mistress for so high a servant.   
  Pro.  Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant   
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.    100
  Val.  Leave off discourse of disability:   
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.   
  Pro.  My duty will I boast of, nothing else.   
  Sil.  And duty never yet did want his meed.    104
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.   
  Pro.  I’ll die on him that says so but yourself.   
  Sil.  That you are welcome?   
  Pro.        That you are worthless.    108
 
 
Enter a Servant.
   
  Ser.  Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.   
  Sil.  I wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant.] Come, Sir Thurio,   
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:    112
I’ll leave you to confer of home-affairs;   
When you have done, we look to hear from you.   
  Pro.  We’ll both attend upon your ladyship.  [Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED.   
  Val.  Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?    116
  Pro.  Your friends are well and have them much commended.   
  Val.  And how do yours?   
  Pro.        I left them all in health.   
  Val.  How does your lady and how thrives your love?    120
  Pro.  My tales of love were wont to weary you:   
I know you joy not in a love-discourse.   
  Val.  Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter’d now:   
I have done penance for contemning love;    124
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish’d me   
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,   
With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;   
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,    128
Love hath chas’d sleep from my enthralled eyes,   
And made them watchers of mine own heart’s sorrow.   
O, gentle Proteus! Love’s a mighty lord,   
And hath so humbled me as I confess,    132
There is no woe to his correction,   
Nor to his service no such joy on earth.   
Now no discourse, except it be of love;   
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,    136
Upon the very naked name of love.   
  Pro.  Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.   
Was this the idol that you worship so?   
  Val.  Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?    140
  Pro.  No; but she is an earthly paragon.   
  Val.  Call her divine.   
  Pro.        I will not flatter her.   
  Val.  O! flatter me, for love delights in praises.    144
  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,    148
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.   
  Pro.  Except my mistress.   
  Val.        Sweet, except not any,   
Except thou wilt except against my love.    152
  Pro.  Have I not reason to prefer mine own?   
  Val.  And I will help thee to prefer her too:   
She shall be dignified with this high honour,—   
To bear my lady’s train, lest the base earth    156
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.    160
  Pro.  Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?   
  Val.  Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing   
To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing.   
She is alone.    164
  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,    168
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.   
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,   
Because thou see’st me dote upon my love.   
My foolish rival, that her father likes    172
Only for his 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?    176
  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    180
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 inquire you forth:    184
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?    188
  Pro.        I will.  [Exit VALENTINE.   
Even as one heat another heat expels,   
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,   
So the remembrance of my former love    192
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?    196
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.    200
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.    204
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;    208
But when I look on her perfections,   
There is no reason but I shall be blind.   
If I can check my erring love, I will;   
If not, to compass her I’ll use my skill.  [Exit.    212

Act II. Scene V.


The Same. A Street.
   
 
 
Enter SPEED and LAUNCE.
   
  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 hanged; nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say, ‘Welcome!’      4
  Speed.  Come on, you madcap, 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.      8
  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.     12
  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.     16
  Speed.  What thou sayest?   
  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.     20
  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.     24
  Speed.  ’Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest 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.     28
  Speed.  Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest 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, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the alehouse so; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.     32
  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.  [Exeunt.   

Act II. Scene VI.


The Same. A Room in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter PROTEUS.
   
  Pro.  To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;   
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;      4
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 bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.      8
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.     12
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;   
And he wants wit that wants resolved will   
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.   
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,     16
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.     20
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.     24
I to myself am dearer than a friend,   
For love is still most precious in itself;   
And Silvia—witness heaven that made her fair!—   
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.     28
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.     32
I cannot now prove constant to myself   
Without some treachery us’d to Valentine:   
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder   
To climb celestial Silvia’s chamber-window,     36
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;     40
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,     44
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!  [Exit.