EPILOGUE

Spoken by Prospero

NOW my charms are all o'erthrown
And what strength I have's mine own;
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true.
I must be here confin'd by you,
Or sent to Naples: Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island, by your spell;
But release me from my bands,
With the help of your good hands.1
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,

Unless I be reliev'd by prayer;
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

(1) Applause: noise was supposed to dissolve a spelí

It is observed of The Tempest, that its plan is regular, this the author of The Revival thinks, what I think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended or regarded by our author. But, whatever might be Shakspeare's intention in forming or adopting the plot, he has made it instrumental to the production of many characters, diversified with boundless invention, and preserved with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge of opinions, and accurate observation of life. In a single drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their real characters. There is the agency of airy spirits, and of an earthly goblin; the operations of magic, the tumults of a storm, the adventures of a desert island, the native effusion of untaught affection, the punishment of guilt, and the final happiness of the pair for whom our passions and reason are equally interested. JOHNSON.

TWO GENTLEMEN

OF

VERONA.

PERSONS REPRESENTED

Duke of Milan, father to Silvia.

Valentine,

Proteus,

Gentlemen of Verona.

Antonio, father to Proteus.

Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine.
Eglamour, agent for Silvia in her escape.
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine.
Launce, servant to Proteus.

Panthino, servant to Antonio.

Host, where Julia lodgs in Milan.
Out-laws.

Julia, a lady of Torona, seloved by Proteus. Silvia, the duke's daughter, beloved by Valentine Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia.

Servants, musicians.

Scene, Sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan, and on the frontiers of Mantua.

TWO GENTLEMEN

OF

VERONA.

ACT I.

SCENE I-An open place in Verona. Enter Valentine and Proteus.

Valentine.

CEASE to persuade, my loving Proteus;
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits:
Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company,
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!

Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,

When thou dost meet good hap; and, in thy dan

ger,

If ever danger do environ thee,

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

For I will be thy beads-man, Valentine.
Val. And on a love-book pray for my success.
Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love.
For he was more than over shoes in love.

Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the

boots.

Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not.

Pro.
Val.

What?

To be

In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy

looks,

With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll

prove.

Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. Val. Love is your master, for he masters you: And he that is so yoked by a fool,

Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. And writers say, As the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,

Losing his verdure even in the prime,

(1) A humorous punishment at harvest-home feasts, &c.