Act II. 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,      4
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts   
Are visibly character’d and engrav’d,   
To lesson me and tell me some good mean   
How, with my honour, I may undertake      8
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;     12
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.     16
  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,     20
Thou wouldst 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,     24
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;     28
But when his fair course is not hindered,   
He makes sweet music with th’ enamell’d stones,   
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge   
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;     32
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     36
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.     40
  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     44
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:     48
To be fantastic may become a youth   
Of 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 lord,     52
What compass will you wear your farthingale?’   
Why, even what fashion thou best lik’st, Lucetta.   
  Luc.  You must needs have them with a cod-piece, madam.   
  Jul.  Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour’d.     56
  Luc.  A round hose, madam, now’s not worth a pin,   
Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.   
  Jul.  Lucetta, as thou lov’st me, let me have   
What thou think’st meet and is most mannerly.     60
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.     64
  Jul.  Nay, that I will not.   
  Luc.  Then never dream on infamy, but go.   
If Proteus like your journey when you come,   
No matter who’s displeas’d when you are gone.     68
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     72
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:     76
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.     80
  Luc.  Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him!   
  Jul.  Now, as thou lov’st me, do him not that wrong   
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:   
Only deserve my love by loving him,     84
And presently go with me to my chamber,   
To take a note of what I stand in need of   
To furnish me upon my longing journey.   
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,     88
My goods, my lands, my reputation;   
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.   
Come, answer not, but to it presently!   
I am impatient of my tarriance.  [Exeunt.     92

Act III. Scene I.


Milan. An anteroom in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.
   
  Duke.  Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;   
We have some secrets to confer about.  [Exit THURIO.      4
Now tell me, Proteus, what’s your will with me?   
  Pro.  My gracious lord, that which I would discover   
The law of friendship bids me to conceal;   
But when I call to mind your gracious favours      8
Done to me, undeserving as I am,   
My duty pricks me on to utter that   
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.   
Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,     12
This night intends to steal away your daughter:   
Myself am one made privy to the plot.   
I know you have determin’d to bestow her   
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;     16
And should she thus be stol’n away from you   
It would be much vexation to your age.   
Thus, for my duty’s sake, I rather chose   
To cross my friend in his intended drift,     20
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head   
A pack of sorrows which would press you down,   
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.   
  Duke.  Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,     24
Which to requite, command me while I live.   
This love of theirs myself have often seen,   
Haply, when they have judg’d me fast asleep,   
And oftentimes have purpos’d to forbid     28
Sir Valentine her company and my court;   
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err   
And so unworthily disgrace the man,—   
A rashness that I ever yet have shunn’d,—     32
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find   
That which thyself hast now disclos’d to me.   
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,   
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,     36
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,   
The key whereof myself have ever kept;   
And thence she cannot be convey’d away.   
  Pro.  Know, noble lord, they have devis’d a mean     40
How he her chamber-window will ascend   
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;   
For which the youthful lover now is gone   
And this way comes he with it presently;     44
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.   
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly   
That my discovery be not aimed at;   
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,     48
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.   
  Duke.  Upon mine honour, he shall never know   
That I had any light from thee of this.   
  Pro.  Adieu, my lord: Sir Valentine is coming.  [Exit.     52
 
 
Enter VALENTINE.
   
  Duke.  Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?   
  Val.  Please it your Grace, there is a messenger   
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,     56
And I am going to deliver them.   
  Duke.  Be they of much import?   
  Val.  The tenour of them doth but signify   
My health and happy being at your court.     60
  Duke.  Nay then, no matter: stay with me awhile;   
I am to break with thee of some affairs   
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.   
’Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought     64
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.   
  Val.  I know it well, my lord; and sure, the match   
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman   
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities     68
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.   
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?   
  Duke.  No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen, froward,   
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;     72
Neither regarding that she is my child,   
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:   
And, may I say to thee this pride of hers,   
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;     76
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age   
Should have been cherish’d by her child-like duty,   
I now am full resolv’d to take a wife   
And turn her out to who will take her in:     80
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;   
For me and my possessions she esteems not.   
  Val.  What would your Grace have me to do in this?   
  Duke.  There is a lady of Verona here,     84
Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy   
And nought esteems my aged eloquence:   
Now therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,   
For long agone I have forgot to court;     88
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang’d,   
How and which way I may bestow myself   
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.   
  Val.  Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:     92
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind   
More than quick words do move a woman’s mind.   
  Duke.  But she did scorn a present that I sent her.   
  Val.  A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.     96
Send her another; never give her o’er,   
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.   
If she do frown, ’tis not in hate of you,   
But rather to beget more love in you;    100
If she do chide, ’tis not to have you gone;   
For why the fools are mad if left alone.   
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;   
For, ‘get you gone,’ she doth not mean, ‘away!’    104
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;   
Though ne’er so black, say they have angels’ faces.   
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,   
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.    108
  Duke.  But she I mean is promis’d by her friends   
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,   
And kept severely from resort of men,   
That no man hath access by day to her.    112
  Val.  Why then, I would resort to her by night.   
  Duke.  Ay, but the doors be lock’d and keys kept safe,   
That no man hath recourse to her by night.   
  Val.  What lets but one may enter at her window?    116
  Duke.  Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,   
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it   
Without apparent hazard of his life.   
  Val.  Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,    120
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,    124
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.    128
  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    132
Under a cloak that is of any length.   
  Duke.  A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?   
  Val.  Ay, my good lord.   
  Duke.        Then let me see thy cloak:    136
I’ll get me one of such another length.   
  Val.  Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.   
  Duke.  How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?   
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.  [Pulls open VALENTINE’S cloak.    140
What letter is this same? What’s here?—To Silvia!   
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!   
I’ll be so bold to break the seal for once.
           My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
   And slaves they are to me that send them flying:
   O! could their master come and go as lightly,
   Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying!
   My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;
   While I, their king, that thither them importune.
   Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless’d them,
   Because myself do want my servants’ fortune:
   I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
   That they should harbour where their lord would be.
   
What’s here?
           Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.
    144
’Tis so; and here’s the ladder for the purpose.   
Why, Phaethon,—for thou art Merops’ son,—   
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car   
And with thy daring folly burn the world?    148
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?   
Go, base intruder! overweening slave!   
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,   
And think my patience, more than thy desert,    152
Is privilege for thy departure hence.   
Thank me for this more than for all the favours   
Which all too much I have bestow’d on thee.   
But if thou linger in my territories    156
Longer than swiftest expedition   
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,   
By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love   
I ever bore my daughter or thyself.    160
Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;   
But, as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.  [Exit.   
  Val.  And why not death rather than living torment?   
To die is to be banish’d from myself;    164
And Silvia is myself: banish’d from her   
Is self from self,—a deadly banishment!   
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?   
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?    168
Unless it be to think that she is by   
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.   
Except I be by Silvia in the night,   
There is no music in the nightingale;    172
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,   
There is no day for me to look upon.   
She is my essence; and I leave to be,   
If I be not by her fair influence    176
Foster’d, illumin’d, cherish’d, kept alive.   
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:   
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;   
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.    180
 
 
Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.
   
  Pro.  Run, boy; run, run, and seek him out.   
  Launce.  Soho! soho!   
  Pro.  What seest thou?    184
  Launce.  Him we go to find: there’s not a hair on’s head but ’tis a Valentine.   
  Pro.  Valentine?   
  Val.  No.   
  Pro.  Who then? his spirit?    188
  Val.  Neither.   
  Pro.  What then?   
  Val.  Nothing.   
  Launce.  Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?    192
  Pro.  Who would’st thou strike?   
  Launce.  Nothing.   
  Pro.  Villain, forbear.   
  Launce.  Why, sir I’ll strike nothing: I pray you,—    196
  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,    200
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad.   
  Val.  Is Silvia dead?   
  Pro.  No, Valentine.   
  Val.  No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia!    204
Hath she forsworn me?   
  Pro.  No, Valentine.   
  Val.  No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!   
What is your news?    208
  Launce.  Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.   
  Pro.  That thou art banished, O, that’s the news,   
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.   
  Val.  O, I have fed upon this woe already,    212
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.   
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?   
  Pro.  Ay, ay; and she hath offer’d to the doom—   
Which, unrevers’d, stands in effectual force—    216
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    220
As if but now they waxed pale for woe:   
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,   
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,   
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;    224
But Valentine, if he be ta’en, must die.   
Besides, her intercession chaf’d him so,   
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,   
That to close prison he commanded her,    228
With many bitter threats of biding there.   
  Val.  No more; unless the next word that thou speak’st   
Have some malignant power upon my life:   
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,    232
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.   
  Pro.  Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,   
And study help for that which thou lament’st.   
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.    236
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;   
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.   
Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that   
And manage it against despairing thoughts.    240
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;   
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver’d   
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.   
The time now serves not to expostulate:    244
Come, I’ll convey thee through the city-gate,   
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large   
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.   
As thou lov’st Silvia, though not for thyself,    248
Regard thy danger, and along with me!   
  Val.  I pray thee, Launce, and if thou seest my boy,   
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate.   
  Pro.  Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.    252
  Val.  O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!  [Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS.   
  Launce.  I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave: 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 horse 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 milkmaid; 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. [Pulling out a paper.] Here is the catelog of her condition. Imprimis, 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, Signior Launce! what news with your mastership?    256
  Launce.  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?   
  Launce.  The blackest news that ever thou heardest.   
  Speed.  Why, man, how black?    260
  Launce.  Why, as black as ink.   
  Speed.  Let me read them.   
  Launce.  Fie on thee, jolthead! thou canst not read.   
  Speed.  Thou liest; I can.    264
  Launce.  I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?   
  Speed.  Marry, the son of my grandfather.   
  Launce.  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.    268
  Launce.  There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed!   
  Speed.  Imprimis, She can milk.   
  Launce.  Ay, that she can.   
  Speed.  Item, She brews good ale.    272
  Launce.  And thereof comes the proverb, ‘Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.’   
  Speed.  Item, She can sew.   
  Launce.  That’s as much as to say, Can she so?   
  Speed.  Item, She can knit.    276
  Launce.  What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock?   
  Speed.  Item, She can wash and scour.   
  Launce.  A special virtue; for then she need not be washed and scoured.   
  Speed.  Item, She can spin.    280
  Launce.  Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.   
  Speed.  Item, She hath many nameless virtues.   
  Launce.  That’s as much as to say, bastard virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.   
  Speed.  Here follow her vices.    284
  Launce.  Close at the heels of her virtues.   
  Speed.  Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath.   
  Launce.  Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.   
  Speed.  Item, She hath a sweet mouth.    288
  Launce.  That makes amends for her sour breath.   
  Speed.  Item, She doth talk in her sleep.   
  Launce.  It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.   
  Speed.  Item, She is slow in words.    292
  Launce.  O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue: I pray thee, out with ’t, and place it for her chief virtue.   
  Speed.  Item, She is proud.   
  Launce.  Out with that too: it was Eve’s legacy, and cannot be ta’en from her.   
  Speed.  Item, She hath no teeth.    296
  Launce.  I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.   
  Speed.  Item, She is curst.   
  Launce.  Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.   
  Speed.  Item, She will often praise her liquor.    300
  Launce.  If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I will; for good things should be praised.   
  Speed.  Item, She is too liberal.   
  Launce.  Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.   
  Speed.  Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.    304
  Launce.  Stop there; I’ll have her: she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.   
  Speed.  Item, She hath more hair than wit.—   
  Launce.  More hair than wit it may be; I’ll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair, that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What’s next?   
  Speed.  And more faults than hairs.—    308
  Launce.  That’s monstrous! O, that that were out!   
  Speed.  And more wealth than faults.   
  Launce.  Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I’ll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible,—   
  Speed.  What then?    312
  Launce.  Why, then will I tell thee,—that thy master stays for thee at the North-gate.   
  Speed.  For me?   
  Launce.  For thee! ay; who art thou? he hath stayed for a better man than thee.   
  Speed.  And must I go to him?    316
  Launce.  Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve the turn.   
  Speed.  Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love-letters!  [Exit.   
  Launce.  Now will he be swing’d for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction.  [Exit.   

Act III. Scene II.


The Same. A Room in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter DUKE and THURIO.
   
  Duke.  Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you,   
Now Valentine is banish’d from her sight.      4
  Thu.  Since his exile she hath despis’d me most,   
Forsworn my company and rail’d at me,   
That I am desperate of obtaining her.   
  Duke.  This weak impress of love is as a figure      8
Trenched in ice, which with an hour’s heat   
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.   
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,   
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.     12
 
 
Enter PROTEUS.
   
How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman   
According to our proclamation gone?   
  Pro.  Gone, my good lord.     16
  Duke.  My daughter takes his going grievously.   
  Pro.  A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.   
  Duke.  So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.   
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,—     20
For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,—   
Makes me the better to confer with thee.   
  Pro.  Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace   
Let me not live to look upon your Grace.     24
  Duke.  Thou know’st how willingly I would effect   
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.   
  Pro.  I do, my lord.   
  Duke.  And also, I think, thou art not ignorant     28
How she opposes her against my will.   
  Pro.  She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.   
  Duke.  Ay, and perversely she persevers so.   
What might we do to make the girl forget     32
The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?   
  Pro.  The best way is to slander Valentine   
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent,   
Three things that women highly hold in hate.     36
  Duke.  Ay, but she’ll think that it is spoke in hate.   
  Pro.  Ay, if his enemy deliver it:   
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken   
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.     40
  Duke.  Then you must undertake to slander him.   
  Pro.  And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:   
’Tis an ill office for a gentleman,   
Especially against his very friend.     44
  Duke.  Where your good word cannot advantage him,   
Your slander never can endamage him:   
Therefore the office is indifferent,   
Being entreated to it by your friend.     48
  Pro.  You have prevail’d, my lord. If I can do it,   
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,   
She shall not long continue love to him.   
But say this weed her love from Valentine,     52
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.   
  Thu.  Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,   
Lest it should ravel and be good to none,   
You must provide to bottom it on me;     56
Which must be done by praising me as much   
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.   
  Duke.  And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,   
Because we know, on Valentine’s report,     60
You are already Love’s firm votary   
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.   
Upon this warrant shall you have access   
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;     64
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,   
And, for your friend’s sake, will be glad of you;   
Where you may temper her, by your persuasion   
To hate young Valentine and love my friend.     68
  Pro.  As much as I can do I will effect.   
But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;   
You must lay lime to tangle her desires   
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rimes     72
Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.   
  Duke.  Ay,   
Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.   
  Pro.  Say that upon the altar of her beauty     76
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart.   
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears   
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line   
That may discover such integrity:     80
For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews,   
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,   
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans   
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.     84
After your dire-lamenting elegies,   
Visit by night your lady’s chamber-window   
With some sweet consort: to their instruments   
Tune a deploring dump; the night’s dead silence     88
Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.   
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.   
  Duke.  This discipline shows thou hast been in love.   
  Thu.  And thy advice this night I’ll put in practice.     92
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,   
Let us into the city presently   
To sort some gentlemen well skill’d in music.   
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn     96
To give the onset to thy good advice.   
  Duke.  About it, gentlemen!   
  Pro.  We’ll wait upon your grace till after-supper,   
And afterward determine our proceedings.    100
  Duke.  Even now about it! I will pardon you.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. Scene I.


A Forest between Milan and Verona
   
 
 
Enter certain Outlaws.
   
  First Out.  Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.   
  Sec. Out.  If there be ten, shrink not, but down with ’em.      4
 
 
Enter VALENTINE and SPEED.
   
  Third Out.  Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;   
If not, we’ll make you sit and rifle you.   
  Speed.  Sir, we are undone: these are the villains      8
That all the travellers do fear so much.   
  Val.  My friends,—   
  First Out.  That’s not so, sir; we are your enemies.   
  Sec. Out.  Peace! we’ll hear him.     12
  Third Out.  Ay, by my beard, will we, for he is a proper man.   
  Val.  Then know, that I have little wealth to lose.   
A man I am cross’d with adversity:   
My riches are these poor habiliments,     16
Of which if you should here disfurnish me,   
You take the sum and substance that I have.   
  Sec. Out.  Whither travel you?   
  Val.  To Verona.     20
  First Out.  Whence came you?   
  Val.  From Milan.   
  Third Out.  Have you long sojourn’d there?   
  Val.  Some sixteen months; and longer might have stay’d     24
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.   
  Sec. Out.  What! were you banish’d thence?   
  Val.  I was.   
  Sec. Out.  For what offence?     28
  Val.  For that which now torments me to rehearse.   
I kill’d a man, whose death I much repent;   
But yet I slew him manfully, in fight,   
Without false vantage or base treachery.     32
  First Out.  Why, ne’er repent it, if it were done so.   
But were you banish’d for so small a fault?   
  Val.  I was, and held me glad of such a doom.   
  Sec. Out.  Have you the tongues?     36
  Val.  My youthful travel therein made me happy,   
Or else I often had been miserable.   
  Third Out.  By the bare scalp of Robin Hood’s fat friar,   
This fellow were a king for our wild faction!     40
  First Out.  We’ll have him: Sirs, a word.   
  Speed.  Master, be one of them;   
It is an honourable kind of thievery.   
  Val.  Peace, villain!     44
  Sec. Out.  Tell us this: have you anything to take to?   
  Val.  Nothing, but my fortune.   
  Third Out.  Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,   
Such as the fury of ungovern’d youth     48
Thrust from the company of awful men:   
Myself was from Verona banished   
For practising to steal away a lady,   
An heir, and near allied unto the duke.     52
  Sec Out.  And I from Mantua, for a gentleman,   
Who, in my mood, I stabb’d unto the heart.   
  First Out.  And I for such like petty crimes as these.   
But to the purpose; for we cite our faults,     56
That they may hold excus’d our lawless lives;   
And, partly, seeing you are beautified   
With goodly shape, and by your own report   
A linguist, and a man of such perfection     60
As we do in our quality much want—   
  Sec. Out.  Indeed, because you are a banish’d man,   
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.   
Are you content to be our general?     64
To make a virtue of necessity   
And live, as we do, in this wilderness?   
  Third Out.  What say’st thou? wilt thou be of our consort?   
Say ‘ay,’ and be the captain of us all:     68
We’ll do thee homage and be rul’d by thee,   
Love thee as our commander and our king.   
  First Out.  But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.   
  Sec. Out.  Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer’d.     72
  Val.  I take your offer and will live with you,   
Provided that you do no outrages   
On silly women, or poor passengers.   
  Third Out.  No; we detest such vile, base practices.     76
Come, go with us; we’ll bring thee to our crews,   
And show thee all the treasure we have got,   
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene II.


Milan. The Court of the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter PROTEUS.
   
  Pro.  Already have I been false to Valentine,   
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.      4
Under the colour of commending him,   
I have access my own love to prefer:   
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,   
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.      8
When I protest true loyalty to her,   
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;   
When to her beauty I commend my vows,   
She bids me think how I have been forsworn     12
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov’d:   
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,   
The least whereof would quell a lover’s hope,   
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,     16
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still.   
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,   
And give some evening music to her ear.   
 
 
Enter THURIO, and Musicians.
     20
  Thu.  How now, Sir Proteus! are you crept before us?   
  Pro.  Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love   
Will creep in service where it cannot go.   
  Thu.  Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here.     24
  Pro.  Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.   
  Thu.  Who? Silvia?   
  Pro.  Ay, Silvia, for your sake.   
  Thu.  I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,     28
Let’s tune, and to it lustily a while.   
 
 
Enter Host and JULIA behind. JULIA in boy’s clothes.
   
  Host.  Now, my young guest, methinks you’re allycholly: I pray you, why is it?   
  Jul.  Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.     32
  Host.  Come, we’ll have you merry. I’ll bring you where you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.   
  Jul.  But shall I hear him speak?   
  Host.  Ay, that you shall.   
  Jul.  That will be music.  [Music plays.     36
  Host.  Hark! hark!   
  Jul.  Is he among these?   
  Host.  Ay; but peace! let’s hear ’em.   
 
 
SONG.
           Who is Silvia? what is she?
     That all our swains commend her?
   Holy, fair, and wise is she;
     The heaven such grace did lend her,
   That she might admired be.
    
   Is she kind as she is fair?
     For beauty lives with kindness:
   Love doth to her eyes repair,
     To help him of his blindness;
   And, being help’d, inhabits there.
    
   Then to Silvia let us sing,
     That Silvia is excelling;
   She excels each mortal thing
     Upon the dull earth dwelling;
   To her let us garlands bring.
     40
  Host.  How now! are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? the music likes you not.   
  Jul.  You mistake; the musician likes me not.   
  Host.  Why, my pretty youth?   
  Jul.  He plays false, father.     44
  Host.  How? out of tune on the strings?   
  Jul.  Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.   
  Host.  You have a quick ear.   
  Jul.  Ay; I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.     48
  Host.  I perceive you delight not in music.   
  Jul.  Not a whit,—when it jars so.   
  Host.  Hark! what fine change is in the music!   
  Jul.  Ay, that change is the spite.     52
  Host.  You would have them always play but one thing?   
  Jul.  I would always have one play but one thing.   
But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on   
Often resort unto this gentlewoman?     56
  Host.  I will tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov’d her out of all nick.   
  Jul.  Where is Launce?   
  Host.  Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his master’s command, he must carry for a present to his lady.   
  Jul.  Peace! stand aside: the company parts.     60
  Pro.  Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead   
That you shall say my cunning drift excels.   
  Thu.  Where meet we?   
  Pro.  At Saint Gregory’s well.     64
  Thu.  Farewell.  [Exeunt THURIO and Musicians.   
 
 
Enter SILVIA above, at her window.
   
  Pro.  Madam, good even to your ladyship.   
  Sil.  I thank you for your music, gentlemen.     68
Who is that that spake?   
  Pro.  One, lady, if you knew his pure heart’s truth,   
You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.   
  Sil.  Sir Proteus, as I take it.     72
  Pro.  Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.   
  Sil.  What is your will?   
  Pro.        That I may compass yours.   
  Sil.  You have your wish; my will is even this:     76
That presently you hie you home to bed.   
Thou subtle, perjur’d, false, disloyal man!   
Think’st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,   
To be seduced by thy flattery,     80
That hast deceiv’d so many with thy vows?   
Return, return, and make thy love amends.   
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,   
I am so far from granting thy request     84
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,   
And by and by intend to chide myself   
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.   
  Pro.  I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;     88
But she is dead.   
  Jul.  [Aside.] ’Twere false, if I should speak it;   
For I am sure she is not buried.   
  Sil.  Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend     92
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness   
I am betroth’d: and art thou not asham’d   
To wrong him with thy importunacy?   
  Pro.  I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.     96
  Sil.  And so suppose am I; for in his grave,   
Assure thyself my love is buried.   
  Pro.  Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.   
  Sil.  Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence;    100
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.   
  Jul.  [Aside.] He heard not that.   
  Pro.  Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,   
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,    104
The picture that is hanging in your chamber:   
To that I’ll speak, to that I’ll sigh and weep;   
For since the substance of your perfect self   
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow,    108
And to your shadow will I make true love.   
  Jul.  [Aside.] If ’twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it,   
And make it but a shadow, as I am.   
  Sil.  I am very loath to be your idol, sir;    112
But, since your falsehood shall become you well   
To worship shadows and adore false shapes,   
Send to me in the morning and I’ll send it.   
And so, good rest.    116
  Pro.        As wretches have o’er night   
That wait for execution in the morn.  [Exeunt PROTEUS, and SILVIA, above.   
  Jul.  Host, will you go?   
  Host.  By my halidom, I was fast asleep.    120
  Jul.  Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?   
  Host.  Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think ’tis almost day.   
  Jul.  Not so; but it hath been the longest night   
That e’er I watch’d and the most heaviest.  [Exeunt.    124

Act IV. Scene III.


The Same.
   
 
 
Enter EGLAMOUR
   
  Egl.  This is the hour that Madam Silvia   
Entreated me to call, and know her mind:      4
There’s some great matter she’d employ me in.   
Madam, Madam!   
 
 
Enter SILVIA above, at her window.
   
  Sil.        Who calls?      8
  Egl.        Your servant, and your friend;   
One that attends your ladyship’s command.   
  Sil.  Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.   
  Egl.  As many, worthy lady, to yourself.     12
According to your ladyship’s impose,   
I am thus early come to know what service   
It is your pleasure to command me in.   
  Sil.  O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman—     16
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not—   
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well-accomplish’d.   
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will   
I bear unto the banish’d Valentine,     20
Nor how my father would enforce me marry   
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.   
Thyself hast lov’d; and I have heard thee say   
No grief did ever come so near thy heart     24
As when thy lady and thy true love died,   
Upon whose grave thou vow’dst pure chastity.   
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,   
To Mantua, where, I hear he makes abode;     28
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,   
I do desire thy worthy company,   
Upon whose faith and honour I repose.   
Urge not my father’s anger, Eglamour,     32
But think upon my grief, a lady’s grief,   
And on the justice of my flying hence,   
To keep me from a most unholy match,   
Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.     36
I do desire thee, even from a heart   
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,   
To bear me company and go with me:   
If not, to hide what I have said to thee,     40
That I may venture to depart alone.   
  Egl.  Madam, I pity much your grievances;   
Which since I know they virtuously are plac’d,   
I give consent to go along with you,     44
Recking as little what betideth me   
As much I wish all good befortune you.   
When will you go?   
  Sil.        This evening coming.     48
  Egl.  Where shall I meet you?   
  Sil.        At Friar Patrick’s cell,   
Where I intend holy confession.   
  Egl.  I will not fail your ladyship.     52
Good morrow, gentle lady.   
  Sil.  Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.  [Exeunt severally.

Act IV. Scene IV.


The Same.
   
 
 
Enter LAUNCE with his dog
   
  Launce.  When a man’s servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard; one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, ‘Thus would I teach a dog.’ I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master, and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon’s leg. O! ’tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies. I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for’t: sure as I live, he had suffered for’t: you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the duke’s table: he had not been there—bless the mark—a pissing-while, but all the chamber smelt him. ‘Out with the dog!’ says one; ‘What cur is that?’ says another; ‘Whip him out,’ says the third; ‘Hang him up,’ says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: ‘Friend,’ quoth I, ‘you mean to whip the dog?’ ‘Ay, marry, do I,’ quoth he. ‘You do him the more wrong,’ quoth I; ‘’twas I did the thing you wot of.’ He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I’ll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for’t; thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentle-woman’s farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?   
 
 
Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy’s clothes.
      4
  Pro.  Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well   
And will employ thee in some service presently.   
  Jul.  In what you please: I will do what I can.   
  Pro.  I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE.] How now, you whoreson peasant!      8
Where have you been these two days loitering?   
  Launce.  Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.   
  Pro.  And what says she to my little jewel?   
  Launce.  Marry, she says, your dog was a cur, and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present.     12
  Pro.  But she received my dog?   
  Launce  No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him back again.   
  Pro.  What! didst thou offer her this from me?   
  Launce.  Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman boys in the marketplace; and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.     16
  Pro.  Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,   
Or ne’er return again into my sight.   
Away, I say! Stay’st thou to vex me here?   
A slave that still an end turns me to shame.  [Exit LAUNCE.     20
Sebastian, I have entertained thee   
Partly, that I have need of such a youth,   
That can with some discretion do my business,   
For’t is no trusting to yond foolish lout;     24
But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,   
Which, if my augury deceive me not,   
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth:   
Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.     28
Go presently, and take this ring with thee.   
Deliver it to Madam Silvia:   
She lov’d me well deliver’d it to me.   
  Jul.  It seems, you lov’d not her, to leave her token.     32
She’s dead, belike?   
  Pro.        Not so: I think, she lives.   
  Jul.  Alas!   
  Pro.  Why dost thou cry ‘alas?’     36
  Jul.        I cannot choose   
But pity her.   
  Pro.  Wherefore should’st thou pity her?   
  Jul.  Because methinks that she lov’d you as well     40
As you do love your lady Silvia.   
She dreams on him that has forgot her love;   
You dote on her, that cares not for your love.   
’Tis pity, love should be so contrary;     44
And thinking on it makes me cry, ‘alas!’   
  Pro.  Well, well, give her that ring and therewithal   
This letter: that’s her chamber. Tell my lady   
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.     48
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,   
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.  [Exit.   
  Jul.  How many women would do such a message?   
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain’d     52
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.   
Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him   
That with his very heart despiseth me?   
Because he loves her, he despiseth me;     56
Because I love him, I must pity him.   
This ring I gave him when he parted from me,   
To bind him to remember my good will;   
And now am I—unhappy messenger—     60
To plead for that which I would not obtain,   
To carry that which I would have refus’d,   
To praise his faith which I would have disprais’d.   
I am my master’s true-confirmed love,     64
But cannot be true servant to my master,   
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.   
Yet will I woo for him; but yet so coldly   
As heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.     68
 
 
Enter SILVIA, attended.
   
Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean   
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.   
  Sil.  What would you with her, if that I be she?     72
  Jul.  If you be she, I do entreat your patience   
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.   
  Sil.  From whom?   
  Jul.  From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.     76
  Sil.  O! he sends you for a picture?   
  Jul.  Ay, madam.   
  Sil.  Ursula, bring my picture there.  [A picture brought.   
Go, give your master this: tell him from me,     80
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,   
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.   
  Jul.  Madam, please you peruse this letter.—   
Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis’d     84
Deliver’d you a paper that I should not:   
This is the letter to your ladyship.   
  Sil.  I pray thee, let me look on that again.   
  Jul.  It may not be: good madam, pardon me.     88
  Sil.  There, hold.   
I will not look upon your master’s lines:   
I know, they are stuff’d with protestations   
And full of new-found oaths, which he will break     92
As easily as I do tear his paper.   
  Jul.  Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.   
  Sil.  The more shame for him that he sends it me;   
For, I have heard him say a thousand times,     96
His Julia gave it him at his departure.   
Though his false finger have profan’d the ring,   
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.   
  Jul.  She thanks you.    100
  Sil.  What say’st thou?   
  Jul.  I thank you, madam, that you tender her.   
Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much.   
  Sil.  Dost thou know her?    104
  Jul.  Almost as well as I do know myself:   
To think upon her woes, I do protest   
That I have wept a hundred several times.   
  Sil.  Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her.    108
  Jul.  I think she doth, and that’s her cause of sorrow.   
  Sil.  Is she not passing fair?   
  Jul.  She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.   
When she did think my master lov’d her well,    112
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;   
But since she did neglect her looking-glass   
And threw her sun-expelling mask away,   
The air hath starv’d the roses in her cheeks    116
And pinch’d the lily-tincture of her face,   
That now she is become as black as I.   
  Sil.  How tall was she?   
  Jul.  About my stature; for, at Pentecost,    120
When all our pageants of delight were play’d,   
Our youth got me to play the woman’s part,   
And I was trimm’d in Madam Julia’s gown,   
Which served me as fit, by all men’s judgments,    124
As if the garment had been made for me:   
Therefore I know she is about my height.   
And at that time I made her weep agood;   
For I did play a lamentable part.    128
Madam, ’twas Ariadne passioning   
For Theseus’ perjury and unjust flight;   
Which I so lively acted with my tears   
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,    132
Wept bitterly, and would I might be dead   
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!   
  Sil.  She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.—   
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!    136
I weep myself to think upon thy words.   
Here, youth, there is my purse: I give thee this   
For thy sweet mistress’ sake, because thou lov’st her.   
Farewell.    140
  Jul.  And she shall thank you for’t, if e’er you know her.—  [Exit SILVIA, with Attendants.   
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful.   
I hope my master’s suit will be but cold,   
Since she respects my mistress’ love so much.    144
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!   
Here is her picture: let me see; I think,   
If I had such a tire, this face of mine   
Were full as lovely as is this of hers;    148
And yet the painter flatter’d her a little,   
Unless I flatter with myself too much.   
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:   
If that be all the difference in his love    152
I’ll get me such a colour’d periwig.   
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine:   
Ay, but her forehead’s low, and mine’s as high.   
What should it be that he respects in her    156
But I can make respective in myself,   
If this fond Love were not a blinded god?   
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,   
For ’tis thy rival. O thou senseless form!    160
Thou shalt be worshipp’d, kiss’d, lov’d, and ador’d,   
And, were there sense in his idolatry,   
My substance should be statue in thy stead.   
I’ll use thee kindly for thy mistress’ sake,    164
That us’d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,   
I should have scratch’d out your unseeing eyes,   
To make my master out of love with thee.  [Exit.

Act V. Scene I.


Milan. An Abbey.
   
 
 
Enter EGLAMOUR.
   
  Egl.  The sun begins to gild the western sky,   
And now it is about the very hour      4
That Silvia at Friar Patrick’s cell should meet me.   
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours,   
Unless it be to come before their time,   
So much they spur their expedition.      8
See, where she comes.   
 
 
Enter SILVIA.
   
                Lady, a happy evening!   
  Sil.  Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour,     12
Out at the postern by the abbey-wall.   
I fear I am attended by some spies.   
  Egl.  Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;   
If we recover that, we’re sure enough.  [Exeunt.     16

Act V. Scene II.


The Same. A Room in the DUKE’S Palace.
   
 
 
Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA.
   
  Thu.  Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?   
  Pro.  O, sir, I find her milder than she was;      4
And yet she takes exceptions at your person.   
  Thu.  What! that my leg is too long?   
  Pro.  No, that it is too little.   
  Thu.  I’ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.      8
  Jul.  [Aside.] But love will not be spurr’d to what it loathes.   
  Thu.  What says she to my face?   
  Pro.  She says it is a fair one.   
  Thu.  Nay then, the wanton lies; my face is black.     12
  Pro.  But pearls are fair, and the old saying is,   
‘Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.’   
  Jul.  [Aside.] ’Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies’ eyes;   
For I had rather wink than look on them.     16
  Thu.  How likes she my discourse?   
  Pro.  Ill, when you talk of war.   
  Thu.  But well, when I discourse of love and peace?   
  Jul.  [Aside.] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.     20
  Thu.  What says she to my valour?   
  Pro.  O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.   
  Jul.  [Aside.] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.   
  Thu.  What says she to my birth?     24
  Pro.  That you are well deriv’d.   
  Jul.  [Aside.] True; from a gentleman to a fool.   
  Thu.  Considers she my possessions?   
  Pro.  O, ay; and pities them.     28
  Thu.  Wherefore?   
  Jul.  [Aside.] That such an ass should owe them.   
  Pro.  That they are out by lease.   
  Jul.  Here comes the duke.     32
 
 
Enter DUKE.
   
  Duke.  How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!   
Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?   
  Thu.  Not I.     36
  Pro.    Nor I.   
  Duke.      Saw you my daughter?   
  Pro.        Neither.   
  Duke  Why then,     40
She’s fled unto that peasant Valentine,   
And Eglamour is in her company.   
’Tis true; for Friar Laurence met them both,   
As he in penance wander’d through the forest;     44
Him he knew well, and guess’d that it was she,   
But, being mask’d, he was not sure of it;   
Besides, she did intend confession   
At Patrick’s cell this even, and there she was not.     48
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.   
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,   
But mount you presently and meet with me   
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot,     52
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled.   
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.[Exit.   
  Thu.  Why, this it is to be a peevish girl,   
That flies her fortune when it follows her.     56
I’ll after, more to be reveng’d on Eglamour   
Than for the love of reckless Silvia.  [Exit.   
  Pro.  And I will follow, more for Silvia’s love   
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.  [Exit.     60
  Jul.  And I will follow, more to cross that love   
Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love.  [Exit.

Act V. Scene III.


Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest.
   
 
 
Enter Outlaws with SILVIA.
   
  First Out.  Come, come,   
Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.      4
  Sil.  A thousand more mischances than this one   
Have learn’d me how to brook this patiently.   
  Second Out.  Come, bring her away.   
  First Out.  Where is the gentleman that was with her?      8
  Third Out.  Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us;   
But Moyses and Valerius follow him.   
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;   
There is our captain. We’ll follow him that’s fled:     12
The thicket is beset; he cannot ’scape.  [Exeunt all except the First Outlaw and SILVIA.   
  First Out.  Come, I must bring you to our captain’s cave.   
Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,   
And will not use a woman lawlessly.     16
  Sil.  O Valentine! this I endure for thee.  [Exeunt.