He makes sweet music with the enamell'd Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil Luc. But in what habit will you go Jul. Not like a woman; for I would The loose encounters of lascivious men : Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken With twenty odd-conceited true-love To be fantastic may become a youth Jul. That fits as well as 'Tell me, What compass will you wear your farthin- Why even what fashion thou best likest, Luc. You must needs have them with you come to him! Jul. Now, as thou lovest me, do him To bear a hard opinion of his truth: Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be Come, answer not, but to it presently! ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly. But tell me, wench, how will the world For undertaking so unstaid a journey? ACT III. [Exeunt. 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, 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 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 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; Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming. [Exit. 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, Duke. Be they of much import? My health and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; Which to requite, command me while I│I am to break with thee of some affairs 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, 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. I ever bore my daughter or thyself. [Exit. 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 Silvia be not by? Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have for sworn me. What is your news? 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, 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, 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. 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 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 citygate; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. As thou lovest 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 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Val. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Val. and Pro. 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 waterspaniel; which is much in a bare Christian. [Pulling out a paper.] Here is the cate-log 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. 6 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? 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? |