The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

Sil. I thank yon, gentle servant: 'tis very
elerkly done.

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off:
For, being ignorant to whoin it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.

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 much: And yet,

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel:
And yet I will not name it:-and yet I tare 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.
[Aside.
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 ano-
ther.

Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it

over:

And, if it please yon, so; if not, why, so.

Vul. 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 her
suitor,

He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard a
ter ?

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 woos you by a figure.

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 Panthipo.

Pant. 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. Laun. 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 Probet-tens 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 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, 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, Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? with the hole in it, is my mother; and this my Speed. What need she, when she hath made father: A vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, you write to yourself? Why, do you not per-this staff is my sister; for look you, she is as ceive the jest? white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog-no, the deg is himself, and I am the dog-oh, 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, (0 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 1 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.

Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: But did you perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except in 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 deliver'd, and
there an end.

Val. I would, it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you writ to her; and she, in
modesty,

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

Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.

Enter Panthino.

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weepest thou, All this I speak in print; for in print I found it.-man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide, if you Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time. Val. I have dined.

tarry any longer.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chame-it leon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have

Laun. It's no matter if the ty'd were lost; for
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.

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Vel. 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 1, that I am not?
Val. Wise.

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

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

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

Sil What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change colour ?

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

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.

S. 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 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.

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 de

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 1 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 a while:
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 lady

ship,

Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd

them

Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them pri soners 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.

Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your coun- Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Ser.

tryman?

Come, Sir Thurio,

Go with me:-Once more, new servant, wel- In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

come:

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

sorrow.

O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I must confess,
There is no wo 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. No; but she's 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 prond,
Disdain to root the summer-smelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is
this?

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is
thing

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,

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.-

[Erit Val.

Even as one heat another heat expe's,
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 her mien, 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 ?
'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. [Erit
SCENE V. The same. A Street.

Enter Speed and Lannce.
Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to
Milan.

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for
I 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, your mad-cap, I'll to the ale-
house with you presently; where, for one shot
of five pence thou shalt have five thousand wel-
comes. But, sirrah, how didst thy master part
with madam Julia 7

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 es 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.

Speel. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst
not?

My staff understands me.
Speed. What thou say'st?

Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll
but lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all

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 say nothing, 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, Launce, 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 h'n to be.

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest | Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my

me.

Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house, so; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why?

Laun Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

Speed. At thy service. SCENE VI.

[Exeunt. 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 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
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.
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 Ilose; 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 my self am dearer than a friend;
For love is still most 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:
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 proceed-

Enter Julia and Lucetta.

Jul Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me!
And, e'en 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.

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,
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 th' 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:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
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 tormoil,
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.

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 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 cod

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: 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,

To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
Only deserve my love, by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,

SCENE I. Milan. An Ante-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 determined to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she be thus 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),
I 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.

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, fro-
ward,

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 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,

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

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;
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. 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. 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 unchoring books, 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,

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a That longs for every thing that he can come by

while;

I am to break with thee of some affairs,

That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.

Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a lad der.

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: From the Text of the Corrected ...