That my master, being scribe, to himself should | ner of it : This shoe is my father ;-no, this left shoe write the letter?

Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 't is you that have the

reason.

Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.
Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.
Val. What figure?

Steed. By a letter, I should say.
Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?
Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: But did you
perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and
there an end.

Val. I would, it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you 't is as well.

For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind
discover,

her lover.-

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.-
Why muse you, sir? 't is dinner time.
Val. I have dined.

|

is my father;-no, no, this left shoe is my mother;---
nay, that cannot be so neither:-yes, it is so, it is so;
it hath the worser sole; This shoe, with the hole in
it, is my mother, and this my father; A vengeance
on't ! there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for,
look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a
wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog-
no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,-0, the
dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now conie
I to my father; Father, your blessing; now should
not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now, should
I kiss my father; well, he weeps on:-now come I
to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like
a wood woman;-well, I kiss her;-why, there''t is;
here's my mother's breath up and down; now come
I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now the
dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a
( word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino.

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What 's
the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass;
you 'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
is the unkindest tied that ever man tied.
Laun. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it

Pan. What 's the unkindest tide?

Laun. Why, he that 's tied here; Crab my dog. in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood: and, thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,Why dost thou stop my mouth?

Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pan. Where should I lose my tongue?
Laun. In thy tale.

Pan. In thy tail?

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the cameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the House.master, and the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

SCENE II.-Verona. A Room in Julia's
Enter Proteus and Julia.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner:
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

[Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we 'll make exchange; here, take

you this.

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness;
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ;
That tide will stay me longer than I should:

[Exit Julia.

Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call
thee.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan. Wilt thou go?
Laun. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Sil. Servant.

Val. Mistress.

Thu. What instance of the contrary?
Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change
colour?

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of cameleon.

Laun. Nay, 't will be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault : I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid a howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the man-quickly shot off.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

Val. T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
S. Who is that, servant?

al. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company.

Thu. Šir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt,

Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.

Enter Duke.

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?
Val.
My lord, I will be thankful
To any happy messenger from thence.
Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman?
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation,
And not without desert so well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a son?

Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well?

Go with me :-Once more, new servant, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you
came?
[commended.
Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much
Val. And how do yours?
Pro.
I left them all in health.
Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your

love?

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know you joy not in a love-discourse.

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his service no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

Val. I know him, as myself; for from our infancy
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:, gentle Proteus, love 's a mighty lord;
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that 's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman..

Duke, Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a-while :
I think, 't is no unwelcome news to you.
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth;
Silvia, I speak to you and you, sir Thurio:-
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it:
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke.
Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship,
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them,
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
[still.
Val. Nay, sure I think she holds them prisoners
How could he see his way to seek out you? [blind,
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being
Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all-
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object love can wink.

man.

Enter Proteus.

Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentle-
[seech you.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus! - Mistress, I be-
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability :-
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed;
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress,
Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself,

Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:
Was this the idol that you worship so?
Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon.
Val. Call her divine.
Pro.

I will not flatter her.
Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills;
And I must minister the like to you.
Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality,

Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress.

Val.

Sweet, except not any;
Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour,-
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly..
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing

She is alone.

Pro. Then let her alone.

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

Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it her mien 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?
T is 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.

Milan.

[Exit.

SCENE V.-The same. A Street. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed. Launce? by mine honesty, welcome to 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 hostess say, welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, 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 ?

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

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? shall he marry her?
Laun. No, neither.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?
Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him,
it stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not!
Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not!
My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou say'st?

SCENE VI.-The same. A Room 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 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 inay heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will

To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.-
Fye, fye, 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 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!
SCENE VII.-Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.

[Exit.

Ful. 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 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.

Laun. Ay, and what I do, too: look thee, I'll but To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one.
Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match?
Laun. 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."
Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me
but by a parable.

Speed. T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how
say st thou, that my master is become a notable lover?
Laun. I never knew him otherwise.
Speed. Than how?

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.
Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy

master.

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 ale-
house; 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.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Ful. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
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.
Ful. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's
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 would'st 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,

[food?

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 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.
Ful. 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.
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your
breeches?
[lord,
Ful. That fits as well, as-tell me, good my
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.

Ful. 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.

Ful. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let ine 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
Ful. Nay, that I will not.

[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 pleas'd withal.
Ful. 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.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Ful. 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!

Ful. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him
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.

ACT III.

not that
[wrong,

[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, 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 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 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 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 may'st 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 him.
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 honour, he shall never know
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,
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.
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.
'T is 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 resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in.
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
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
Send her another; never give her o'er; [her:
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 't is 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, ex' ol 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.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept
That no man hath 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 clinib 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. [that.
Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me
Duke. This very night; for love is like a child,
That longs for every thing 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. 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, [ing. Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lyMy 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 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