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 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 resclved 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!
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 used to Valentine:—
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window,
Myself in counsel, his competitor:2
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended3 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. A room in Julia's House.
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.

J. Counsel, Lucetta: gentle girl, assist me!
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thec,-
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 honor, 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 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 2 Confederate.

- l'empting.

[food?

• Intended.

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 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 the enamel'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 show to be. [breeches i Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 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-piece madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favor'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 scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go net
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 displeas'd, when you are gone:
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd 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 To bear a hard opinion of his truth: [wrong, 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.

• Trouble.

[Exeunt

• Longed for.

BCENE I-Milan. An Ante-room in 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? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis

cover,

The law of friendship bids me to conceal :
But, when I call to mind your gracious favors
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 stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather choose
To cross my friend in his intended drif
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 purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing least 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 tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
Pro. 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 hin.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aim'd" at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence."
Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming.

Duke. Be they of much import?
Val. The tenor of them doth out 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 honorable; 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, fio
ward,

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 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 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 proinis'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.

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 climt 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 harbor 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 blessed them,

Because myself do want my servant's fortune: I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbor 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! 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 favors,
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.
Begone, 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 live in tor-
ment !

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 le 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 ;

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!-What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd.

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 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 fect she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so becar2! them,

As if but now they waxed pale for woe:
But neither bended knees, pure hand, held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears.
Could penetrate her uncompassionate s:re;
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 the 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 dolor.

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not el And study help for that which thou lament'st.

Time is tl.e 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, thou 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 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 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 nore 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?

[heard'st.

Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou
Speed. Why, mar, how black?
Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

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

Laur. And thereof comes the proverb,-bless

ing of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, She an sew.

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 wheele when she can spin for her living.

Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard vir tues; 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 amends for her sour breath. Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleeps not in her talk.

Speed. Item, She is slow in words.

Laun. O villain, that set this down among het 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. [crusts. Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love Speed. Item, She is curst.' [bite. Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to 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, ana 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 herefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit, is more than the wit; for the greate: hides the less. What's next?

Speed. And has 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?

Speed. Item, She can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with

wench, when she can knit him a stock?

Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.

St. Nicholas presided over young scholars.
Froward.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your love-letters! [Exis

Licentious in language.

Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my etter: An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets!—I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's rorrection [Exit. A room in the Duke's

SCENE II.-The same.

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. 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 shown 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 loth to do: fis an ill office for a gentleman;

Especially, against his very friend.

| 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
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, [him
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 yo: 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 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 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 griev

ance.

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.
[Exeunt