or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me reasonless to reason thus? She is 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. Exit SCENE V. Milan. A street Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua. LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say 'Welcome!' SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with Madam Julia? LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. SPEED. But shall she marry him? LAUNCE. No. SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her? LAUNCE. No, neither. SPEED. What, are they broken? LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish. SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them? LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff understands me. SPEED. What thou say'st? LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed. LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match? LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will. LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou that my master is become a notable lover? LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise. SPEED. Than how? LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover. LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. SPEED. Why? LAUNCE. 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. Milan. The DUKE's palace Enter PROTEUS PROTEUS. 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 ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury: Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. 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 t' 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 most precious in itself; And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!- Shows 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 us'd 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 enrag'd, 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. JULIA'S house Enter JULIA and LUCETTA JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, To lesson me and tell me some good mean How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! JULIA. 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. LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return. JULIA. 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. LUCETTA. 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. JULIA. The more thou dam'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 th' 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. LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along? JULIA. 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. LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. JULIA. 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 show to be. LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? JULIA. That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale.' Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd. LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. JULIA. 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 scandaliz'd. LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. JULIA. Nay, that I will not. LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey when you come, No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone. I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances of infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men. JULIA. 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. LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him. JULIA. 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, dispatch me hence. Come, answer not, but to it presently; I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? PROTEUS. 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 determin'd 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, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd 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 disclos'd 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 tow'r, The key whereof myself have ever kept; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. PROTEUS. 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 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. PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit Enter VALENTINE DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? VALENTINE. 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? VALENTINE. The tenour 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. VALENTINE. 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 childlike 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-dow'r; For me and my possessions she esteems not. VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this? DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona 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. VALENTINE. 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. VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. Send her another; never give her o'er, 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 promis'd 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. VALENTINE. 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. VALENTINE. 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. VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r, So bold Leander would adventure it. DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. VALENTINE. 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. VALENTINE. 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? VALENTINE. 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? VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord. DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak. I'll get me one of such another length. VALENTINE. 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 importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest 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, Phaethon- 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, 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 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 bore 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 VALENTINE. 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? 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, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; But fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out. LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho! PROTEUS. What seest thou? LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a Valentine. PROTEUS. Valentine? VALENTINE. No. PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit? VALENTINE. Neither. PROTEUS. What then? VALENTINE. Nothing. LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike? LAUNCE. Nothing. PROTEUS. Villain, forbear. LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray you- PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead? PROTEUS. No, Valentine. VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. Hath she forsworn me? PROTEUS. No, Valentine. VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. What is your news? LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that's the news!- From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered 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. VALENTINE. 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. PROTEUS. 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. VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS 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 water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis: 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? 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? LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st. SPEED. Why, man? how black? LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink. SPEED. Let me read them. LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. SPEED. Thou liest; I can. LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee? SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather. LAUNCE. 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. LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed. SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.' LAUNCE. Ay, that she can. SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.' LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.' LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?' SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.' LAUNCE. 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.' LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd. SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.' LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.' LAUNCE. 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.' LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues. SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her breath.' LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on. SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.' LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath. SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. SPEED. 'Item: She is slow in words.' LAUNCE. 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.' LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.' LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.' LAUNCE. 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.' LAUNCE. 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 cannot I help. Well, proceed. SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' LAUNCE. 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'- LAUNCE. 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'- LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out! SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.' LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible- SPEED. What then? LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee at the Northgate. SPEED. For me? LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man than thee. SPEED. And must I go to him? LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that going will scarce serve the turn. SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! Exit LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd 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. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter DUKE and THURIO DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd 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. Enter PROTEUS How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone? PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. PROTEUS. 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 shown some sign of good desert- Makes me the better to confer with thee. PROTEUS. 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. PROTEUS. I do, my lord. DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? PROTEUS. 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. PROTEUS. 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. PROTEUS. 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. PROTEUS. 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. THURIO. 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. PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect. But you, Sir Thurio, 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 is the force of heaven-bred poesy. PROTEUS. 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 consort; 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 shows thou hast been in love. THURIO. 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! PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt ACT_4|SC_1 ACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest Enter certain OUTLAWS FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye; If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. VALENTINE. My friends- FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him. THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man. VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose; A man I am cross'd with adversity; My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you? VALENTINE. To Verona. FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you? VALENTINE. From Milan. THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there? VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence? VALENTINE. I was. SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence? VALENTINE. 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. FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. But were you banish'd for so small a fault? VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues? VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Or else I often had been miserable. THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction! FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. VALENTINE. Peace, villain! SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune. THIRD OUTLAW. 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 banished For practising to steal away a lady, An heir, and near allied unto the Duke. SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose- for we cite our faults That they may hold excus'd 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- SECOND OUTLAW. 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? THIRD OUTLAW. 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 rul'd by thee, Love thee as our commander and our king. FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest. SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you, Provided that you do no outrages On silly women or poor passengers. THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews, And show thee all the treasure we have got; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt SCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window Enter PROTEUS PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 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 lov'd; 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. Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, And give some evening music to her ear. THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us? PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. THURIO. Who? Silvia? PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake. THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it? JULIA. 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 ask'd for. JULIA. But shall I hear him speak? HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays] JULIA. That will be music. HOST. Hark, hark! JULIA. Is he among these? HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em. SONG Who is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven 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. JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not. HOST. Why, my pretty youth? JULIA. He plays false, father. HOST. How, out of tune on the strings? JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings. HOST. You have a quick ear. JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. HOST. I perceive you delight not in music. JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so. HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music! JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite. HOST. You would have them always play but one thing? JULIA. 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 lov'd her out of all nick. JULIA. 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. JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts. PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead That you shall say my cunning drift excels. THURIO. Where meet we? PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well. THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS Enter SILVIA above, at her window PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship. SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that that spake? PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it. PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. SILVIA. What's your will? PROTEUS. That I may compass yours. SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man, Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, And by and by intend to chide myself Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; But she is dead. JULIA. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it; For I am sure she is not buried. SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd To wrong him with thy importunacy? PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. SILVIA. And so