Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O! be not like your mistress: be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Verona. A Room in JULIA'S House. 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 thy 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. Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come.Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 66 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, so. Now come 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 'tis; 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. Pant. 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. Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Pant. What's the unkindest tide? Launce. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth? Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pant. In thy tail? Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and 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. Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Milan. A Room in the DUKE's Palace. Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEed. SCENE III.-The Same. A Street. Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. 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 howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruelhearted 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, this 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 the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't! there 'tis : 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 Sil. Servant. Val. Mistress. Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. Val. Of my mistress, then. Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. So do counterfeits. Thu. What seem I that I am not? Thu. What instance of the contrary? Thu. And how quote you my folly? Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 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. 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 looks, 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. Enter the 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? Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy 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, Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Upon some other pawn for fealty. Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. That you are worthless. Enter THURio. Thu. Madam. my lord, your father, would speak with you. Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: 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. 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. O, gentle Proteus! love's a mighty lord, 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. 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. 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. Val. Sweet, except not any, Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 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, Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth. I must unto the road, to disembark Val. Will you make haste? [Exit VALENTINE. Even as one heat another heat expels, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always-that a man is never undone, till he be hang'd; 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? Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him? Launce. No. Speed. How then? Shall he marry her? Speed. What, are they broken? Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them? Launce. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not. Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. My staff understands me. Speed. What thou say'st? Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match? Launce. 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. Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover? Launce. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how? Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him SCENE VI.-The Same. An Apartment 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 bad me swear, and love bids me forswear. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; But there I leave to love, where I should love. If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her air!) I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead; I cannot now prove constant to myself For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me: To lesson me; and tell me some good mean, Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 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, 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, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays Luc. But in what habit will you go along? Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 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 what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 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 of infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 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 that wrong, SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-chamber 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 dis cover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal; My duty pricks me on to utter that, Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, And with a corded ladder fetch her down; 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 awhile. 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 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; |