I

And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd)
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 aimed at;2

For, love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.3

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.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.

2 be not aimed at;] Be not guessed. Johnson.

3 of this pretence.] Of this claim made to your daughter. Johnson. Pretence is design. So, in K. Lear: "-to feel my affection to your honour, and no other pretence of danger."

Again, in the same play: "-pretence and purpose of unkindness. Steevens.

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:
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 quick than words, do move a woman's mind."

4 And, where] Where, in this instance, has the power of whereas. So, in Pericles, Act I. sc. i:

"Where now you 're both a father and a son." Steevens.

5 sir, in Milan, here,] It ought to be thus, instead of-in Verona, here-for the scene apparently is in Milan, as is clear from several passages in the first act, and in the beginning of the first scene of the fourth act. A like mistake has crept into the eighth scene of Act II, where Speed bids his fellow-servant, Launce, welcome to Padua. Pope.

6 the fashion of the time-] The modes of courtship, the acts by which men recommended themselves to ladies. Johnson. 7 Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;

Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,

More quick than words, do move a woman's mind.

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

So, in our author's Passionate Pilgrim:

"Spare not to spend,

"The strongest castle, tower, and town,
"The golden bullet beats it down."

A line of this stanza

"The strongest castle, tower, and town,"

and two in a succeeding stanza―

"What though she strive to try her strength,
"And ban an brawl, and say thee nay,”-

remind us of the following verses in The Historie of Graunde Amoure, [sign. I 2] written by Stephen Hawes, near a century before those of Shakspeare:

"Forsake her not, though that she saye nay:

"A womans guise is evermore delay.
"No Castel can be of so great a strength,
"If that there be a sure siege to it layed;
"It must yelde up, or els be won at length,

Though that 'to-fore it hath bene long delayed;
"So continuance may you right well ayde:
"Some womans harte can not so harded be,
"But busy labour may make it agree."

Another earlier writer than Shakspeare, speaking of women, has also the same unfavourable (and, I hope, unfounded) senti

ment:

""Tis wisdom to give much! a gift prevails,
"When deep persuasive oratory fails."

Marlowe's Hero and Leander.

Malone.

Again, in the First Part of Jeronimo, 1605, though written

much earlier:

66 let his protestations be

"Fashioned with rich jewels, for in love

"Great gifts and gold have the best tongues to move. "Let him not spare an oath without a jewel

"To bind it fast: oh, I know womens hearts

"What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and giving "Will melt the chastest seeming female living."

The same rude sentiment was soon after adopted by Beaumont and Fletcher, in The Woman Hater, 1607, Act IV. sc. ii: 66 your offers must

8

"Be full of bounty; velvets to furnish a gown, silks
"For petticoats and foreparts, shag for lining;
"Forget not some pretty jewel to fasten after
"Some little compliment! If she deny this courtesy,

"Double your bounties; be not wanting in abundance:
"Fulness of gifts, link'd with a pleasing tongue,
"Will win an anchorite." Reed.

that I sent her.] To produce a more accurate rhyme, we might read:

that I sent, Sir:"

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 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 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 climb 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 every thing, that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

Mr. M. Mason observes, that the rhyme, which was evidently here intended, requires that we should read-" what best content her." The word what may imply those which, as well as that which. Steevens.

9 What lets,] i. e. what hinders. So, in Hamlet, Act I. sc. iv: "By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me."

Steevens.

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,

[Reads.

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;

While I, their king, that thither them impórtune, 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,1

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, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son)2
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?

1 for they are sent by me,] For is the same as for that, since. Johnson.

2

Merops' son)] Thou art Phaeton in thy rashness, but without his pretensions; thou art not the son of a divinity, but a terræ filius, a low-born wretch! Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaeton was falsely reproached. Johnson.

This scrap of mythology Shakspeare might have found in the spurious play of K. John, 1591:

66

as sometime Phaeton Mistrusting silly Merops for his sire." Or, in Robert Greene's Orlando Furioso, 1594:

Why, foolish, hardy, daring, simple groom, "Follower of fond conceited Phaeton," &c.

Steevens.