ACT III. The law of friendship bids me to conceal : My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. you, Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care; Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep; And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court: But, fearing lest my jealous aim 6 might err, And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) gave him gentle looks; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested', 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 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; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aim'd at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence.9 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. Duke. Be they of much import? Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while; 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 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 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; Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; tents her : Send her another; never give her o'er ; Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends 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? 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, | There is no day for me to look upon : To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it. Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak, that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. Because myself do want my servant's fortune : I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : "Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaeton (for thou art Merops' son), Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Will give thee time to leave our royal court, ment? To die, is to be banish from myself; 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? 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 musick in the nightingale Unless I look on Silvia in the day, She is my essence; and I leave to be, Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho! so-ho! Pro. What seest thou? Laun. 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? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear: Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe: But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; 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, 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: Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, [Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave: but that's all one, if he 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. Enter SPEED. Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with your mastership? Laun. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word: What news then in your paper? Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou heard'st. Laun. Why, as black as ink. Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. Laun. I will try thee. Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. Laun. Ay, that she can. Speed. Item, She brews good ale. Laun. And thereof comes the proverb. ing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, She can sew. - Bless Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she so? Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. Item, She is slow in words. Laun. 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. Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, master stays for thee at the north gate. Speed. For me? that thy Laun. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath staid for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him? Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? plague of your love-letters! [Exit. Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my letter: An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. [Exit. you, Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Thu. Since his exíle she hath despised me most, Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, Pro. Gone, my good lord. Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 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 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, What might we do to make the girl forget and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. Item, She is curst.1 Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor. Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I will; for good things should be praised. 9 St. Nicholas presided over young scholars. 1 Froward. The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him, Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman; Especially, against his very friend. 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. By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord: if I can do it, That may discover such integrity: 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, It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews; Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, After your dire lamenting elegies, Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, You must provide to bottom it on me: Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind; And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. SCENE I. A Forest near Mantua. Enter certain Out-laws. Visit by night your lady's chamber-window Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. To sort 7 some gentlemen well skill'd in musick : Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper: ACT IV. 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. with 'em. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you; If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. 2 Out. For what offence? Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse: 1 Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains Or else I often had been miserable. That all the travellers do fear so much. Val. My friends 1 Out. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. 2 Out. Peace; we'll hear him. 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; For he's a proper 5 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, You take the sum and substance that I have. Val. To Verona. 1 Out. Whence came you? Val. From Milan. 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there? Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might have staid, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence? Val. I was. • Birdlime. 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, It is an honourable kind of thievery. 2 Out. Tell us this: Have you any thing to take Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 1 Out. But to the purpose, you are beautified Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: To make a virtue of necessity, And live, as we do, in this wilderness? 6 Mournful elegy. Well looking. • Languages. D 7 Choose out. 9 Lawful. 3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our Say, ay, and be the captain of us all : 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers. 3 Out No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, And shew thee all the treasure we have got ; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, Enter THURIO, and Musicians. Thu. How now, sir Proteus? are you crept before us? Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know, that love Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. Enter HOST, at a distance; and 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. Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where you shall hear musick, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for. Jul. But shall I hear him speak? Jul. Is he among these? Is she kind, as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: To help him of his blindness; That Silvia is excelling; Upon the dull earth dwelling; Host. How now? are you sadder than you were How do you, man? the musick likes you not. Jul. He plays false, father. 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. Host. I perceive you delight not in musick. 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? Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he loved her out of all nick. 1 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. Pro. At saint Gregory's well. Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt THURIO and Musicians. SILVIA appears above, at her window. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. Pro. That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 1 Beyond all reckoning. |