Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel,

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
Only for 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?

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd;
Nay, more, our marriage hour,

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

Pro. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:

I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val. Will you make haste?

Pro. I will.

[Exit VAL.

Or as one nail by strength drives out another,

Even as one heat another heat expels,

So the remembrance of my former love

Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise,

Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love ;-
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
O, but I love his lady too, too much :
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
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.

SCENE V.-The same. A Street.

Enter SPEED and LAUNCE.

[Exit.

Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Laun. 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 ho3tess say, "Welcome."

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

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

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. 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 an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why?

Laun. 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.

SCENE VI.-The same. An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter PROTEUS.

Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;

To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;

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 for wear:
O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.-
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;

But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose :

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.

I to myself am dearer than a friend;
For love is still more precious in itself:
And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair
Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,

Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.

I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Without some treachery used to Valentine:-
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor:
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight;
Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine,
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!

[Exit.

SCENE VII.-VERONA. A Room in JULIA's House.

Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me!
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,-
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charácter'd and engraved,—
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she, that hath Love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
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,

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns; The current, that with gentle murmur glides,

Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage,

And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,

Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman: for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men:
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.

Luc. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair.
Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:
To be fantastic may become a youth

Of greater time than I shall shew to be.

Luc. What fashion, Madam, shall I make your breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as-"tell me, good my lord, "What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.

Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-plece, Madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. 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: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me, it will make me scandalised.

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Jul. Nay, that I will not.

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

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,

Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

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

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love by loving him;
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,
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, despatch me hence:
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-MILAN. An Ante-room in the DUKE'S

Palace.

Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while; We have some secrets to confer about.-[Exit THURIO. 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 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,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.

I know, you have determined to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen 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,
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; 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 purposed to forbid 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,) I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. And, that thou mayst 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 devised 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 aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 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.

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, And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court.

[Exit.

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;
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 resolved 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 naught 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 changed;)
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 her another; never give her o'er: [her: 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: 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!"
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.

Duke. But she I mean is promised 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.

Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors oe lock'd, and keys kept
That no man bath recourse to her by night. [safe,
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 everything 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:
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 impórtune,
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 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 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! overweening 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,
Which, all too much, I have bestow d on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories

Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever pore my daughter or thyself.

Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
[Exit DUKE.

Val. And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd 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 Siivia 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 music in the nightingale; 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 Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive.

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, unreversed, 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 chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

[speak'st

Val. No more; unless the next word that thou 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, And manage it against despairing thoughts. 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: 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, Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out.-Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!

[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 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 milk-maid: 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. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a

paper] of her conditions. "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?

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.
Speed. Why, man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou liest, I can.

Laun. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee? Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.

Laun. 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. Laun. There; and saint Nicholas be thy speed! Speed. Imprimis, She can milk."

Laun. Ay, that she can.

Speed. "Item, She brews good ale."

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb,--Blessing

of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. "Item, She can sew."

Loun. That's as much as to say, Can she so?
Speed. "Item, She can knit."

Laun. 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."

Laun. A special virtue; for then she need not be washed and scoured.

Speed. Item, She can spin."

Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.

Speed. "Item, She hath many nameless virtues." Laun. 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."

Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues.

Speed. "Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath."

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast: read on.

Speed. "Item, She hath a sweet mouth."
Laun. That makes amen for her sour breath.
Speed. "Item, She doth talk in her sleep."

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. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.

Speed. "Item, She hath no teeth."

Laun. Icare not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. "Item, She is curst."

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. Speed. "Item, She is too liberal."

Laun. 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 I cannot help. Well, proceed.

Speed. "Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults." Laun. 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,"

Laun. 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,"Laun. That's monstrous: 0, that that were out! Speed. "And more wealth than faults."

Laun. 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?

Laun. Why, then I will tell thee,-that thy master stays for thee at the north gate.

Speed. For me?

Laun. For thee: ay; who art thou? he hath stayed for a better man than thee.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staye so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox 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.

SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the DUKE's Palace.

Enter DUKE and THURIO; PROTEUS behind.
Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you,
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.

Thu. Since his exile she hath despised 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
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.-
How now, Sir Proteus? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?

Pro. Gone, my good lord.

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
(For thou hast shewn 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.

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
How she opposes her against my will.

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.
Duke. Ay, and perversely she persévers so.
What might we do, to make the girl forget
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.

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.
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.

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.

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,
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:
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,
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;
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.

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect:-
But you, Sir Thurlo, are not sharp enough;
You must lay lime, to tangle her desires,
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.
Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
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:-

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.
After your dire lamenting elegies,

Visit by night your lady's chamber-window
With some sweet concert: to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

Duke. This discipline shews thou hast been in love.
Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice:
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,

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.

Duke. Even now about it; I will pardon you.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-A Forest near MANTUA.

Enter certain Outlaws.

[Exeunt.

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.

1 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.

1 Out. Have you the tongues?

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy;

Or else I often had been miserable.

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,

This fellow were a king for our wild faction.

1 Out. We'll have him: Sirs, a word.

Speed. Master, be one of them;

It is an honourable kind of thievery.
Val. Peace, villain!

2 Out. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? Val. Nothing, but my fortune.

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,

Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth

Thrust from the company of awful men:
Myself was from Verona banish'd

For practising to steal away a lady,

An heir, and near allied unto the duke.

2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose-(for we cite our faults, That they may hold excused 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,

As we do in our quality much want;

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: Are you content to be our general?

To make a virtue of necessity,

And live, as we do, in this wilderness?

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort? Say ay, and be the captain of us all :

We'll do thee homage, and be ruled by thee,

Love thee as our commander, and our king.

1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.

2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-MILAN. Court of the Palace. Enter PROTEUS.

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurie 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. 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 In breaking faith with Julia, whom I loved: And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips. The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 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.

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.
Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

Thu. Whom? Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia,-for your sake.

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 ally. cholly; 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 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.

Host. Hark! hark!

Jul. Is he among these?

Host. Ay: but peace! let's hear 'em

SONG.

"Who is Silvia? What is she,

[Music plays.

That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heavens 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."

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.

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 car.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart,