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aut is a physician to comment on your malady.
Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?
Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at
supper?

Val. Hast thou observ'd that? even she I mean.
Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not?

Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favoured.

Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count.

Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.

Val. How esteemest thou me! I account of her beauty.

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.

Val. How long hath she been deformed?
Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful.

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val. Why?

Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your own had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered!

Val. What should I see then?

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set; so, your affection would cease.

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves.

Speed. And have you?

Vat. I have.

Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them :Peace, here she comes.

Enter Silvia.

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Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as muen: And yet,

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it :-and yet I care not ;-
And yet take this again;-and yet I thank you;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet.
nother sids.

Val. What means your ladyship? do you not
like it?

Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ:
But since unwillingly, take them again;
Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request:
But I will none of them; they are for you:
I would have had them writ more movingly.
Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over :
And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour
And so good morrow, servant.
Exit Silvia.
Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a
steeple!

My master sues to her; and she hath taught he.
suitor,

He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?

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

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis 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 ?

Speed. 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.

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perceive her earnest?
Speed. No believing you indeed, sir; but did

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 delivered, and

there an end."

Val. I would, it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:

For often you have writ to her; and she, in

modesty,

Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply,

(4) There's the conclusion

32

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

ing; now should not the shoe speak a word for Or fearing else some messenger, that might her so. Now come I to my father; Father, your bless mind discover, Herself hath taught her love himself to write weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he

unto her lover.

All this I speak in print; for in print I found
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.
Val. I have dined.

weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (0, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman;-well, I up and down: now come I to my sister; mark the it.-kiss her ;—why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the came-not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay leon, Love, can feed on the air, I am one that am the dust with my tears. nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat: O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved.

[Exeunt.

Enter Panthino.

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master SCENE II.-Verona. A room in Julia's house. is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars.

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'er-slips 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 the tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should;

(Exit Julia.
Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Enter Panthino.

Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro. Go; I come, I come :-

Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III-The same. A street. Enter
Launce, leading a dog.

What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? Away,
ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
the ty'd were lost; for it
Laun. It is no matter
is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.
Pan. What's the unkindest tide?

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thoul't lose the flood, jand, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage lose hy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth!

Launce, Nay, 'twill 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 howl-
ing, 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 blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you
the manner of it: This shoe is my father;-no,
left shoe 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
he hole in it, is my mother, and this my father: a
rengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my
sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as
emall as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am
the dog-no, the dog is himself, and I am the
dog.-O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,
(2) Crazy, distracted.

(1) Kindred.

this

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

Pan. In thy tail?

Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide!-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.

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

Laun. Sir, call me what nou darest.

Pan. Wilt thou go?

Laun. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.Milan. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.

Sil. Servant

Val. Mistress?

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress then.

Speed. 'Twere good, you knocked him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.'
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I, that I am not?
Val. Wise.

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

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

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

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

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

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

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(5) Observe.

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.

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

Sil. Who is that, servant?

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

Thu. Sir, 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.

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serves

The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew him as myself; for from our in-
fancy

We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
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 awhile:
I think, 'tis 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.
(1) Ill betide. (2) Incite.

E

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them

Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them priso ners still.

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being
blind,

How could he see his way to seek out you?
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.

Enter Proteus.

Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus!-Mistress, I be
seech you,

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.
Sil. That you are welcome?
Pro.

No; that you are worthless.
Enter Servant.

Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak
with you.

Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant.
Come, Sir Thurio,
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?

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.

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 sor

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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 everlasting.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone.

Pro. Then let her alone.

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine

own;

And I as rich in having such a jewel,
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
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.

Val. Will you make haste?

Pro. I will.

[Exit Val.

Even as one heat another heat expels,
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 mine eye, 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!

(1) On further knowledge.

'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.
SCENE V.-The same. A street. Enter Speed

and Launce.

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Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome Milan.

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for 1 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

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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 sɛy no thing, 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. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Lince, 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

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SCENE VI.-The same. An apartment in the But qualify the fire's extreme rage,

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 may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire;
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 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,

To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.-And make a pastime of each weary step,

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 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. A room in Julia's
house. Enter Julia and Lucetta.

Jul. 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.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-levoted 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.

;

Lac. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul. 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 tune.
Didst thou bat 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.
(1) Tempting. (?) Confederate.

(3) Intended.

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 bescem 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.
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your
breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as-'tell me, good m

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-favour'd.
Lac. 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
not.

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 mer
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 tha

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