« AnteriorContinuar »
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger
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 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 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 ; 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; 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 : 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, sir, in Milan, here, 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 : 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 ; 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 sometimes scorns what best contents
Send hér 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, 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 ? Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke. Then let me see thy cloak ; I'll get me one of such another length.
Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.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. [Reads. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ;
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying : 0, 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 hither them importune, Docurse the grace that with such grace hath bless'dthem,
Because myself do want my servants' 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 will I enfranchise thee : 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose.Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son) 3 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world ? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; And think, my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence : Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
 Thou art Phaeton in thy rashness, but without his pretensions : thou. art not the son of a divinity, but a terré filius, a low born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaeton was falsely reprdached. JOHNS.
17* VOL. I.
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.
Laun. Hím we go to find : there's not a hair
Pro. Valentine ?
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 hath forsworn me ! What is your news?
Laun.Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish’d. Pro. That thou art banish’d, O, that's the news ; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd ?
Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which, unrevers’d, stands in effectual force,) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe : But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 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 : If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 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. 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,