Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them?— Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano! Ste. O! touch me not: I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah? Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, Go to; away! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you Seb. Or stole it, rather. [found it. Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; To hear the story of your life, which must Fro. I'll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off.-[Aside to ARI.] My Ariel; -chick, That is thy charge: then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE. Spoken by PROSPERO. Now my charms are all o'erthrown, Gentle breath of yours my sails Unless I be reliev'd by prayer; As you from crimes would pardon'd be SCENE,-Sometimes in VERONA; sometimes in MILAN, and on the frontiers of MANTUA. ACT I. SCENE I.-An open place in VERONA. Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Wert 't not, affection chains thy tender day. To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love; For he was more than over shoes in love. Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. What? Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at: I am not love. Val. Love is your master, for he masters you; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud Once more adieu! My father at the road Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love: He leaves his friends to dignify them more; I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good counsel, set the world at naught; Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd. Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep. Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry "Baa." Pro. But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia? Speed. Ay, Sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of Speed. I. Pro. Nod, I? why that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, Sir: I say she did nod; and you ask me, if she did nod? and I say I. Pro. And that set together, is-noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, Sir, how do you bear with me? Speed. Marry, Sir, the letter very orderly; having nothing but the word "noddy" for my pains. Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Pro. Come, come; open the matter in brief: what said she? Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter, may be both at once deliver'd. Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your pains. [Giving him money.] What said she? Speed. Truly, Sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter: and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling Give her no token but stones; for your mind. Speed. No, not so much as "Take this for thy pains." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself: and so, Sir, I'll commend you to my master. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, [wreck, Being destin'd to a drier death on shore.— [Exit SPEED. I must go send some better messenger: Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love? Luc. Ay, Madam; so you stumble not unheed. Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, [fully. That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love? Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show my According to my shallow simple skill. [mind Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine; But, were I you, he never should be mine. Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! Jul. How now! what means this passion at his name? Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Luc. Jul. "To Julia."-Say from whom? Luc. from Proteus. He would have given it you; but I, being in the way, |