The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

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 more precious in itself:

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 musick 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:

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair! | I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,

Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembʼring 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 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 pro-
ceeding.

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.

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-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 food?

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,

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.

Luc. 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 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

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 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances as infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

fear:

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men, that use them to so base cffect! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculatė;

His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; | And presently go with me to my chamber,

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
wrong,

To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love, by loving him;

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

ACT THE THIRD.

Milan. An anti-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.

[Erit 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 judged 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,)
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.

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;
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. Adicu, 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.

Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the
match

Were rich and honourable; besides, the gen-.
tleman

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 pecvish, 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,

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a I now am full resolved to take a wife,

mean

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 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.

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?

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 harbour with my Silvia nightly;

And slaves they are tome, 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
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 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 favours,
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.
Be gone, 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 living
torment?

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 be 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,
Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; | There is no musick in the nightingale;

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.

Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho! so-ho!

Pro. What seest thou?

And study help for that, which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;

on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Val. No.

Pro. Valentine?

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

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.

Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I The time now serves not to expostulate: strike?

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, though 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 northgate.

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Va

lentine.

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

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia!- knave: but that's all one, if he be but one Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

knave. He lives not now, that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love; but a team of

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who

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 offer'd 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 feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them,

As if but now they waxed pale for woe:
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.

'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman: but that woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid: 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 more 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 curry. 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.

Speed. Why, man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them.

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

Laun. Fye on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not thing she may; and that I cannot help. Well,

read.

Speed. Thou liest, I can.

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 thy 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.
Laun. And thereof comes the proverb,-
Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.
Speed. Item, She can sew.

Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she so?
Speed. Item, She can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock. Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.

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 wheels, when she can spin for her living.

Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; 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 sleep not in her talk.

Speed. Item, She is slow in words.

Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 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.

proceed.

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and 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 therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit, is more than the wit; for the greater hides the less. What's next?

Speed. And more faults than hairs,— Laun. That's monstrous: O, 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?

Laun. Why, then I will tell thee,—that thy master stays for thee at the north gate. Speed. For me?

Laun. For thec? ay; who art thou? he hath staid for a better man than thee.

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!

[Exit. Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my letter: An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets!-I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same. A room in the Duke's 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. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most,

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a

Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's le- Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, gacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. That I am desperate of obtaining her. Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. · Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.

Speed. Item, She is curst.

Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth

to bite.

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.

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.

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, Band 1