{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/tgv.htm","path":"sks/ff/tgv.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/tgv.htm","text":"Actus primus, Scena prima.\nValentine: Protheus, and Speed.\nValentine. Cease to perswade, my louing Protheus;\nHome-keeping youth, haue euer homely wits,\nWer't not affection chaines thy tender dayes\nTo the sweet glaunces of thy honour'd Loue,\nI rather would entreat thy company,\nTo see the wonders of the world abroad,\nThen (liuing dully sluggardiz'd at home)\nWeare out thy youth with shapelesse idlenesse.\nBut since thou lou'st; loue still, and thriue therein,\nEuen as I would, when I to loue begin\nPro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine adew,\nThinke on thy Protheus, when thou (hap'ly) seest\nSome rare note-worthy obiect in thy trauaile.\nWish me partaker in thy happinesse,\nWhen thou do'st meet good hap; and in thy danger,\n(If euer danger doe enuiron thee)\nCommend thy grieuance to my holy prayers,\nFor I will be thy beades-man, Valentine\nVal. And on a loue-booke pray for my successe?\nPro. Vpon some booke I loue, I'le pray for thee\nVal. That's on some shallow Storie of deepe loue,\nHow yong Leander crost the Hellespont\nPro. That's a deepe Storie, of a deeper loue,\nFor he was more then ouer-shooes in loue\nVal. 'Tis true; for you are ouer-bootes in loue,\nAnd yet you neuer swom the Hellespont\nPro. Ouer the Bootes? nay giue me not the Boots\nVal. No, I will not; for it boots thee not\nPro. What?\nVal. To be in loue; where scorne is bought with grones:\nCoy looks, with hart-sore sighes: one fading moments mirth,\nWith twenty watchfull, weary, tedious nights;\nIf hap'ly won, perhaps a haplesse gaine;\nIf lost, why then a grieuous labour won;\nHow euer: but a folly bought with wit,\nOr else a wit, by folly vanquished\nPro. So, by your circumstance, you call me foole\nVal. So, by your circumstance, I feare you'll proue\nPro. 'Tis Loue you cauill at, I am not Loue\nVal. Loue is your master, for he masters you;\nAnd he that is so yoked by a foole,\nMe thinkes should not be chronicled for wise\nPro. Yet Writers say; as in the sweetest Bud,\nThe eating Canker dwels; so eating Loue\nInhabits in the finest wits of all\nVal. And Writers say; as the most forward Bud\nIs eaten by the Canker ere it blow,\nEuen so by Loue, the yong, and tender wit\nIs turn'd to folly, blasting in the Bud,\nLoosing his verdure, euen in the prime,\nAnd all the faire effects of future hopes.\nBut wherefore waste I time to counsaile thee\nThat art a votary to fond desire?\nOnce more adieu: my Father at the Road\nExpects my comming, there to see me ship'd\nPro. And thither will I bring thee Valentine\nVal. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let vs take our leaue:\nTo Millaine let me heare from thee by Letters\nOf thy successe in loue; and what newes else\nBetideth here in absence of thy Friend:\nAnd I likewise will visite thee with mine\nPro. All happinesse bechance to thee in Millaine\nVal. As much to you at home: and so farewell.\nEnter\nPro. He after Honour hunts, I after Loue;\nHe leaues his friends, to dignifie them more;\nI loue my selfe, my friends, and all for loue:\nThou Iulia, thou hast metamorphis'd me:\nMade me neglect my Studies, loose my time;\nWarre with good counsaile; set the world at nought;\nMade Wit with musing, weake; hart sick with thought\nSp. Sir Protheus: 'saue you: saw you my Master?\nPro. But now he parted hence to embarque for Millain\nSp. Twenty to one then, he is ship'd already,\nAnd I haue plaid the Sheepe in loosing him\nPro. Indeede a Sheepe doth very often stray,\nAnd if the Shepheard be awhile away\nSp. You conclude that my Master is a Shepheard then,\nand I Sheepe?\nPro. I doe\nSp. Why then my hornes are his hornes, whether I\nwake or sleepe\nPro. A silly answere, and fitting well a Sheepe\nSp. This proues me still a Sheepe\nPro. True: and thy Master a Shepheard\nSp. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance\nPro. It shall goe hard but ile proue it by another\nSp. The Shepheard seekes the Sheepe, and not the\nSheepe the Shepheard; but I seeke my Master, and my\nMaster seekes not me: therefore I am no Sheepe\nPro. The Sheepe for fodder follow the Shepheard,\nthe Shepheard for foode followes not the Sheepe: thou\nfor wages followest thy Master, thy Master for wages\nfollowes not thee: therefore thou art a Sheepe\nSp. Such another proofe will make me cry baa\nPro. But do'st thou heare: gau'st thou my Letter\nto Iulia?\nSp. I Sir: I (a lost-Mutton) gaue your Letter to her\n(a lac'd-Mutton) and she (a lac'd-Mutton) gaue mee (a\nlost-Mutton) nothing for my labour\nPro. Here's too small a Pasture for such store of\nMuttons\nSp. If the ground be ouer-charg'd, you were best\nsticke her\nPro. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound\nyou\nSp. Nay Sir, lesse then a pound shall serue me for carrying\nyour Letter\nPro. You mistake; I meane the pound, a Pinfold\nSp. From a pound to a pin? fold it ouer and ouer,\n'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your louer\nPro. But what said she?\nSp. I\nPro. Nod-I, why that's noddy\nSp. You mistooke Sir: I say she did nod;\nAnd you aske me if she did nod, and I say I\nPro. And that set together is noddy\nSp. Now you haue taken the paines to set it together,\ntake it for your paines\nPro. No, no, you shall haue it for bearing the letter\nSp. Well, I perceiue I must be faine to beare with you\nPro. Why Sir, how doe you beare with me?\nSp. Marry Sir, the letter very orderly,\nHauing nothing but the word noddy for my paines\nPro. Beshrew me, but you haue a quicke wit\nSp. And yet it cannot ouer-take your slow purse\nPro. Come, come, open the matter in briefe; what\nsaid she\nSp. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter\nmay be both at once deliuered\nPro. Well Sir: here is for your paines: what said she?\nSp. Truely Sir, I thinke you'll hardly win her\nPro. Why? could'st thou perceiue so much from her?\nSp. Sir, I could perceiue nothing at all from her;\nNo, not so much as a ducket for deliuering your letter:\nAnd being so hard to me, that brought your minde;\nI feare she'll proue as hard to you in telling your minde.\nGiue her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steele\nPro. What said she, nothing?\nSp. No, not so much as take this for thy pains:\nTo testifie your bounty, I thank you, you haue cestern'd me;\nIn requital whereof, henceforth, carry your letters your\nselfe; And so Sir, I'le commend you to my Master\nPro. Go, go, be gone, to saue your Ship from wrack,\nWhich cannot perish hauing thee aboarde,\nBeing destin'd to a drier death on shore:\nI must goe send some better Messenger,\nI feare my Iulia would not daigne my lines,\nReceiuing them from such a worthlesse post.\nEnter.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Iulia and Lucetta.\nIul. But say Lucetta (now we are alone)\nWould'st thou then counsaile me to fall in loue?\nLuc. I Madam, so you stumble not vnheedfully\nIul. Of all the faire resort of Gentlemen,\nThat euery day with par'le encounter me,\nIn thy opinion which is worthiest loue?\nLu. Please you repeat their names, ile shew my minde,\nAccording to my shallow simple skill\nIu. What thinkst thou of the faire sir Eglamoure?\nLu. As of a Knight, well-spoken, neat, and fine;\nBut were I you, he neuer should be mine\nIu. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\nLu. Well of his wealth; but of himselfe, so, so\nIu. What think'st thou of the gentle Protheus?\nLu. Lord, Lord: to see what folly raignes in vs\nIu. How now? what meanes this passion at his name?\nLu. Pardon deare Madam, 'tis a passing shame,\nThat I (vnworthy body as I am)\nShould censure thus on louely Gentlemen\nIu. Why not on Protheus, as of all the rest?\nLu. Then thus: of many good, I thinke him best\nIul. Your reason?\nLu. I haue no other but a womans reason:\nI thinke him so, because I thinke him so\nIul. And would'st thou haue me cast my loue on him?\nLu. I: if you thought your loue not cast away\nIul. Why he, of all the rest, hath neuer mou'd me\nLu. Yet he, of all the rest, I thinke best loues ye\nIul. His little speaking, shewes his loue but small\nLu. Fire that's closest kept, burnes most of all\nIul. They doe not loue, that doe not shew their loue\nLu. Oh, they loue least, that let men know their loue\nIul. I would I knew his minde\nLu. Peruse this paper Madam\nIul. To Iulia: say, from whom?\nLu. That the Contents will shew\nIul. Say, say: who gaue it thee?\nLu. Sir Valentines page: & sent I think from Protheus;\nHe would haue giuen it you, but I being in the way,\nDid in your name receiue it: pardon the fault I pray\nIul. Now (by my modesty) a goodly Broker:\nDare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\nTo whisper, and conspire against my youth?\nNow trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,\nAnd you an officer fit for the place:\nThere: take the paper: see it be return'd,\nOr else returne no more into my sight\nLu. To plead for loue, deserues more fee, then hate\nIul. Will ye be gon?\nLu. That you may ruminate.\nEnter.\nIul. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter;\nIt were a shame to call her backe againe,\nAnd pray her to a fault, for which I chid her.\nWhat 'foole is she, that knowes I am a Maid,\nAnd would not force the letter to my view?\nSince Maides, in modesty, say no, to that,\nWhich they would haue the profferer construe, I.\nFie, fie: how way-ward is this foolish loue;\nThat (like a testie Babe) will scratch the Nurse,\nAnd presently, all humbled kisse the Rod?\nHow churlishly, I chid Lucetta hence,\nWhen willingly, I would haue had her here?\nHow angerly I taught my brow to frowne,\nWhen inward ioy enforc'd my heart to smile?\nMy pennance is, to call Lucetta backe\nAnd aske remission, for my folly past.\nWhat hoe: Lucetta\nLu. What would your Ladiship?\nIul. Is't neere dinner time?\nLu. I would it were,\nThat you might kill your stomacke on your meat,\nAnd not vpon your Maid\nIu. What is't that you\nTooke vp so gingerly?\nLu. Nothing\nIu. Why didst thou stoope then?\nLu. To take a paper vp, that I let fall\nIul. And is that paper nothing?\nLu. Nothing concerning me\nIul. Then let it lye, for those that it concernes\nLu. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes,\nVnlesse it haue a false Interpreter\nIul. Some loue of yours, hath writ to you in Rime\nLu. That I might sing it (Madam) to a tune:\nGiue me a Note, your Ladiship can set\nIul. As little by such toyes, as may be possible:\nBest sing it to the tune of Light O, Loue\nLu. It is too heauy for so light a tune\nIu. Heauy? belike it hath some burden then?\nLu. I: and melodious were it, would you sing it,\nIu. And why not you?\nLu. I cannot reach so high\nIu. Let's see your Song:\nHow now Minion?\nLu. Keepe tune there still; so you will sing it out:\nAnd yet me thinkes I do not like this tune\nIu. You doe not?\nLu. No (Madam) tis too sharpe\nIu. You (Minion) are too saucie\nLu. Nay, now you are too flat;\nAnd marre the concord, with too harsh a descant:\nThere wanteth but a Meane to fill your Song\nIu. The meane is dround with you vnruly base\nLu. Indeede I bid the base for Protheus\nIu. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me;\nHere is a coile with protestation:\nGoe, get you gone: and let the papers lye:\nYou would be fingring them, to anger me\nLu. She makes it stra[n]ge, but she would be best pleas'd\nTo be so angred with another Letter\nIu. Nay, would I were so angred with the same:\nOh hatefull hands, to teare such louing words;\nIniurious Waspes, to feede on such sweet hony,\nAnd kill the Bees that yeelde it, with your stings;\nIle kisse each seuerall paper, for amends:\nLooke, here is writ, kinde Iulia: vnkinde Iulia,\nAs in reuenge of thy ingratitude,\nI throw thy name against the bruzing-stones,\nTrampling contemptuously on thy disdaine.\nAnd here is writ, Loue wounded Protheus.\nPoore wounded name: my bosome, as a bed,\nShall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd;\nAnd thus I search it with a soueraigne kisse.\nBut twice, or thrice, was Protheus written downe:\nBe calme (good winde) blow not a word away,\nTill I haue found each letter, in the Letter,\nExcept mine own name: That, some whirle-winde beare\nVnto a ragged, fearefull, hanging Rocke,\nAnd throw it thence into the raging Sea.\nLoe, here in one line is his name twice writ:\nPoore forlorne Protheus, passionate Protheus:\nTo the sweet Iulia: that ile teare away:\nAnd yet I will not, sith so prettily\nHe couples it, to his complaining Names;\nThus will I fold them, one vpon another;\nNow kisse, embrace, contend, doe what you will\nLu. Madam: dinner is ready: and your father staies\nIu. Well, let vs goe\nLu. What, shall these papers lye, like Tel-tales here?\nIu. If you respect them; best to take them vp\nLu. Nay, I was taken vp, for laying them downe.\nYet here they shall not lye, for catching cold\nIu. I see you haue a months minde to them\nLu. I (Madam) you may say what sights you see;\nI see things too, although you iudge I winke\nIu. Come, come, wilt please you goe.\nExeunt.\nScoena Tertia.\nEnter Antonio and Panthino. Protheus.\nAnt. Tell me Panthino, what sad talke was that,\nWherewith my brother held you in the Cloyster?\nPan. 'Twas of his Nephew Protheus, your Sonne\nAnt. Why? what of him?\nPan. He wondred that your Lordship\nWould suffer him, to spend his youth at home,\nWhile other men, of slender reputation\nPut forth their Sonnes, to seeke preferment out.\nSome to the warres, to try their fortune there;\nSome, to discouer Islands farre away:\nSome, to the studious Vniuersities;\nFor any, or for all these exercises,\nHe said, that Protheus, your sonne, was meet;\nAnd did request me, to importune you\nTo let him spend his time no more at home;\nWhich would be great impeachment to his age,\nIn hauing knowne no trauaile in his youth\nAnt. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that\nWhereon, this month I haue bin hamering.\nI haue consider'd well, his losse of time,\nAnd how he cannot be a perfect man,\nNot being tryed, and tutord in the world:\nExperience is by industry atchieu'd,\nAnd perfected by the swift course of time:\nThen tell me, whether were I best to send him?\nPan. I thinke your Lordship is not ignorant\nHow his companion, youthfull Valentine,\nAttends the Emperour in his royall Court\nAnt. I know it well\nPan. 'Twere good, I thinke, your Lordship sent him\n(thither,\nThere shall he practise Tilts, and Turnaments;\nHeare sweet discourse, conuerse with Noble-men,\nAnd be in eye of euery Exercise\nWorthy his youth, and noblenesse of birth\nAnt. I like thy counsaile: well hast thou aduis'd:\nAnd that thou maist perceiue how well I like it,\nThe execution of it shall make knowne;\nEuen with the speediest expedition,\nI will dispatch him to the Emperors Court\nPan. To morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,\nWith other Gentlemen of good esteeme\nAre iournying, to salute the Emperor,\nAnd to commend their seruice to his will\nAnt. Good company: with them shall Protheus go:\nAnd in good time: now will we breake with him\nPro. Sweet Loue, sweet lines, sweet life,\nHere is her hand, the agent of her heart;\nHere is her oath for loue, her honors paune;\nO that our Fathers would applaud our loues\nTo seale our happinesse with their consents\nPro. Oh heauenly Iulia\nAnt. How now? What Letter are you reading there?\nPro. May't please your Lordship, 'tis a word or two\nOf commendations sent from Valentine;\nDeliuer'd by a friend, that came from him\nAnt. Lend me the Letter: Let me see what newes\nPro. There is no newes (my Lord) but that he writes\nHow happily he liues, how well-belou'd,\nAnd daily graced by the Emperor;\nWishing me with him, partner of his fortune\nAnt. And how stand you affected to his wish?\nPro. As one relying on your Lordships will,\nAnd not depending on his friendly wish\nAnt. My will is something sorted with his wish:\nMuse not that I thus sodainly proceed;\nFor what I will, I will, and there an end:\nI am resolu'd, that thou shalt spend some time\nWith Valentinus, in the Emperors Court:\nWhat maintenance he from his friends receiues,\nLike exhibition thou shalt haue from me,\nTo morrow be in readinesse, to goe,\nExcuse it not: for I am peremptory\nPro. My Lord I cannot be so soone prouided,\nPlease you deliberate a day or two\nAnt. Look what thou want'st shalbe sent after thee:\nNo more of stay: to morrow thou must goe;\nCome on Panthino; you shall be imployd,\nTo hasten on his Expedition\nPro. Thus haue I shund the fire, for feare of burning,\nAnd drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd.\nI fear'd to shew my Father Iulias Letter,\nLeast he should take exceptions to my loue,\nAnd with the vantage of mine owne excuse\nHath he excepted most against my loue.\nOh, how this spring of loue resembleth\nThe vncertaine glory of an Aprill day,\nWhich now shewes all the beauty of the Sun,\nAnd by and by a clowd takes all away\nPan. Sir Protheus, your Fathers call's for you,\nHe is in hast, therefore I pray you go\nPro. Why this it is: my heart accords thereto,\nAnd yet a thousand times it answer's no.\nExeunt. Finis.\nActus secundus: Scoena Prima.\nEnter Valentine, Speed, Siluia\nSpeed. Sir, your Gloue\nValen. Not mine: my Gloues are on\nSp. Why then this may be yours: for this is but one\nVal. Ha? Let me see: I, giue it me, it's mine:\nSweet Ornament, that deckes a thing diuine,\nAh Siluia, Siluia\nSpeed. Madam Siluia: Madam Siluia\nVal. How now Sirha?\nSpeed. Shee is not within hearing Sir\nVal. Why sir, who bad you call her?\nSpeed. Your worship sir, or else I mistooke\nVal. Well: you'll still be too forward\nSpeed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow\nVal. Goe to, sir, tell me: do you know Madam Siluia?\nSpeed. Shee that your worship loues?\nVal. Why, how know you that I am in loue?\nSpeed. Marry by these speciall markes: first, you haue\nlearn'd (like Sir Protheus) to wreath your Armes like a\nMale-content: to rellish a Loue-song, like a Robin-redbreast:\nto walke alone like one that had the pestilence:\nto sigh, like a Schoole-boy that had lost his A.B.C. to\nweep like a yong wench that had buried her Grandam:\nto fast, like one that takes diet: to watch, like one that\nfeares robbing: to speake puling, like a beggar at Hallow-Masse:\nYou were wont, when you laughed, to crow\nlike a cocke; when you walk'd, to walke like one of the\nLions: when you fasted, it was presently after dinner:\nwhen you look'd sadly, it was for want of money: And\nnow you are Metamorphis'd with a Mistris, that when I\nlooke on you, I can hardly thinke you my Master\nVal. Are all these things perceiu'd in me?\nSpeed. They are all perceiu'd without ye\nVal. Without me? they cannot\nSpeed. Without you? nay, that's certaine: for without\nyou were so simple, none else would: but you are\nso without these follies, that these follies are within you,\nand shine through you like the water in an Vrinall: that\nnot an eye that sees you, but is a Physician to comment\non your Malady\nVal. But tell me: do'st thou know my Lady Siluia?\nSpeed. Shee that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\nVal. Hast thou obseru'd that? euen she I meane\nSpeed. Why sir, I know her not\nVal. Do'st thou know her by my gazing on her, and\nyet know'st her not?\nSpeed. Is she not hard-fauour'd, sir?\nVal. Not so faire (boy) as well fauour'd\nSpeed. Sir, I know that well enough\nVal. What dost thou know?\nSpeed. That shee is not so faire, as (of you) well-fauourd?\nVal. I meane that her beauty is exquisite,\nBut her fauour infinite\nSpeed. That's because the one is painted, and the other\nout of all count\nVal. How painted? and how out of count?\nSpeed. Marry sir, so painted to make her faire, that no\nman counts of her beauty\nVal. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty\nSpeed. You neuer saw her since she was deform'd\nVal. How long hath she beene deform'd?\nSpeed. Euer since you lou'd her\nVal. I haue lou'd her euer since I saw her,\nAnd still I see her beautifull\nSpeed. If you loue her, you cannot see her\nVal. Why?\nSpeed. Because Loue is blinde: O that you had mine\neyes, or your owne eyes had the lights they were wont\nto haue, when you chidde at Sir Protheus, for going vngarter'd\nVal. What should I see then?\nSpeed. Your owne present folly, and her passing deformitie:\nfor hee beeing in loue, could not see to garter\nhis hose; and you, beeing in loue, cannot see to put on\nyour hose\nVal. Belike (boy) then you are in loue, for last morning\nYou could not see to wipe my shooes\nSpeed. True sir: I was in loue with my bed, I thanke\nyou, you swing'd me for my loue, which makes mee the\nbolder to chide you, for yours\nVal. In conclusion, I stand affected to her\nSpeed. I would you were set, so your affection would\ncease\nVal. Last night she enioyn'd me,\nTo write some lines to one she loues\nSpeed. And haue you?\nVal. I haue\nSpeed. Are they not lamely writt?\nVal. No (Boy) but as well as I can do them:\nPeace, here she comes\nSpeed. Oh excellent motion; oh exceeding Puppet:\nNow will he interpret to her\nVal. Madam & Mistres, a thousand good-morrows\nSpeed. Oh, 'giue ye-good-ev'n: heer's a million of\nmanners\nSil. Sir Valentine, and seruant, to you two thousand\nSpeed. He should giue her interest: & she giues it him\nVal. As you inioynd me; I haue writ your Letter\nVnto the secret, nameles friend of yours:\nWhich I was much vnwilling to proceed in,\nBut for my duty to your Ladiship\nSil. I thanke you (gentle Seruant) 'tis very Clerklydone\nVal. Now trust me (Madam) it came hardly-off:\nFor being ignorant to whom it goes,\nI writ at randome, very doubtfully\nSil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\nVal. No (Madam) so it steed you, I will write\n(Please you command) a thousand times as much:\nAnd yet -\nSil. A pretty period: well: I ghesse the sequell;\nAnd yet I will not name it: and yet I care not.\nAnd yet, take this againe: and yet I thanke you:\nMeaning henceforth to trouble you no more\nSpeed. And yet you will: and yet, another yet\nVal. What meanes your Ladiship?\nDoe you not like it?\nSil. Yes, yes: the lines are very queintly writ,\nBut (since vnwillingly) take them againe.\nNay, take them\nVal. Madam, they are for you\nSilu. I, I: you writ them Sir, at my request,\nBut I will none of them: they are for you:\nI would haue had them writ more mouingly:\nVal. Please you, Ile write your Ladiship another\nSil. And when it's writ: for my sake read it ouer,\nAnd if it please you, so: if not: why so:\nVal. If it please me, (Madam?) what then?\nSil. Why if it please you, take it for your labour;\nAnd so good-morrow Seruant.\nExit. Sil.\nSpeed. Oh Iest vnseene: inscrutible: inuisible,\nAs a nose on a mans face, or a Wethercocke on a steeple:\nMy Master sues to her: and she hath taught her Sutor,\nHe being her Pupill, to become her Tutor.\nOh excellent deuise, was there euer heard a better?\nThat my master being scribe,\nTo himselfe should write the Letter?\nVal. How now Sir?\nWhat are you reasoning with your selfe?\nSpeed. Nay: I was riming: 'tis you y haue the reason\nVal. To doe what?\nSpeed. To be a Spokes-man from Madam Siluia\nVal. To whom?\nSpeed. To your selfe: why, she woes you by a figure\nVal. What figure?\nSpeed. By a Letter, I should say\nVal. Why she hath not writ to me?\nSpeed. What need she,\nWhen shee hath made you write to your selfe?\nWhy, doe you not perceiue the iest?\nVal. No, beleeue me\nSpeed. No beleeuing you indeed sir:\nBut did you perceiue her earnest?\nVal. She gaue me none, except an angry word\nSpeed. Why she hath giuen you a Letter\nVal. That's the Letter I writ to her friend\nSpeed. And y letter hath she deliuer'd, & there an end\nVal. I would it were no worse\nSpeed. Ile warrant you, 'tis as well:\nFor often haue you writ to her: and she in modesty,\nOr else for want of idle time, could not againe reply,\nOr fearing els some messe[n]ger, y might her mind discouer\nHer self hath taught her Loue himself, to write vnto her louer.\nAll this I speak in print, for in print I found it.\nWhy muse you sir, 'tis dinner time\nVal. I haue dyn'd\nSpeed. I, but hearken sir: though the Cameleon Loue\ncan feed on the ayre, I am one that am nourish'd by my\nvictuals; and would faine haue meate: oh bee not like\nyour Mistresse, be moued, be moued.\nExeunt.\nScoena secunda.\nEnter Protheus, Iulia, Panthion.\nPro. Haue patience, gentle Iulia:\nIul. I must where is no remedy\nPro. When possibly I can, I will returne\nIul. If you turne not: you will return the sooner:\nKeepe this remembrance for thy Iulia's sake\nPro. Why then wee'll make exchange;\nHere, take you this\nIul. And seale the bargaine with a holy kisse\nPro. Here is my hand, for my true constancie:\nAnd when that howre ore-slips me in the day,\nWherein I sigh not (Iulia) for thy sake,\nThe next ensuing howre, some foule mischance\nTorment me for my Loues forgetfulnesse:\nMy father staies my comming: answere not:\nThe tide is now; nay, not thy tide of teares,\nThat tide will stay me longer then I should,\nIulia, farewell: what, gon without a word?\nI, so true loue should doe: it cannot speake,\nFor truth hath better deeds, then words to grace it\nPanth. Sir Protheus: you are staid for\nPro. Goe: I come, I come:\nAlas, this parting strikes poore Louers dumbe.\nExeunt.\nScoena Tertia.\nEnter Launce, Panthion.\nLaunce. Nay, 'twill bee this howre ere I haue done\nweeping: all the kinde of the Launces, haue this very\nfault: I haue receiu'd my proportion, like the prodigious\nSonne, and am going with Sir Protheus to the Imperialls\nCourt: I thinke Crab my dog, be the sowrest natured\ndogge that liues: My Mother weeping: my Father\nwayling: my Sister crying: our Maid howling: our\nCatte wringing her hands, and all our house in a great\nperplexitie, yet did not this cruell-hearted Curre shedde\none teare: he is a stone, a very pibble stone, and has no\nmore pitty in him then a dogge: a Iew would haue wept\nto haue seene our parting: why my Grandam hauing\nno eyes, looke you, wept her selfe blinde at my parting:\nnay, Ile shew you the manner of it. This shooe is my father:\nno, this left shooe is my father; no, no, this left\nshooe is my mother: nay, that cannot bee so neyther:\nyes; it is so, it is so: it hath the worser sole: this shooe\nwith the hole in it, is my mother: and this my father:\na veng'ance on't, there 'tis: Now sir, this staffe is my sister:\nfor, looke you, she is as white as a lilly, and as\nsmall as a wand: this hat is Nan our maid: I am the\ndogge: no, the dogge is himselfe, and I am the dogge:\noh, the dogge is me, and I am my selfe: I; so, so: now\ncome I to my Father; Father, your blessing: now\nshould not the shooe speake a word for weeping:\nnow should I kisse my Father; well, hee weepes on:\nNow come I to my Mother: Oh that she could speake\nnow, like a would-woman: well, I kisse her: why\nthere 'tis; heere's my mothers breath vp and downe:\nNow come I to my sister; marke the moane she makes:\nnow the dogge all this while sheds not a teare: nor\nspeakes a word: but see how I lay the dust with my\nteares\nPanth. Launce, away, away: a Boord: thy Master is\nship'd, and thou art to post after with oares; what's the\nmatter? why weep'st thou man? away asse, you'l loose\nthe Tide, if you tarry any longer\nLaun. It is no matter if the tide were lost, for it is the\nvnkindest Tide, that euer any man tide\nPanth. What's the vnkindest tide?\nLau. Why, he that's tide here, Crab my dog\nPant. Tut, man: I meane thou'lt loose the flood, and\nin loosing the flood, loose thy voyage, and in loosing thy\nvoyage, loose thy Master, and in loosing thy Master,\nloose thy seruice, and in loosing thy seruice: - why\ndost thou stop my mouth?\nLaun. For feare thou shouldst loose thy tongue\nPanth. Where should I loose my tongue?\nLaun. In thy Tale\nPanth. In thy Taile\nLaun. Loose the Tide, and the voyage, and the Master,\nand the Seruice, and the tide: why man, if the Riuer\nwere drie, I am able to fill it with my teares: if the winde\nwere downe, I could driue the boate with my sighes\nPanth. Come: come away man, I was sent to call\nthee\nLau. Sir: call me what thou dar'st\nPant. Wilt thou goe?\nLaun. Well, I will goe.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Valentine, Siluia, Thurio, Speed, Duke, Protheus.\nSil. Seruant\nVal. Mistris\nSpee. Master, Sir Thurio frownes on you\nVal. I Boy, it's for loue\nSpee. Not of you\nVal. Of my Mistresse then\nSpee. 'Twere good you knockt him\nSil. Seruant, you are sad\nVal. Indeed, Madam, I seeme so\nThu. Seeme you that you are not?\nVal. Hap'ly I doe\nThu. So doe Counterfeyts\nVal. So doe you\nThu. What seeme I that I am not?\nVal. Wise\nThu. What instance of the contrary?\nVal. Your folly\nThu. And how quoat you my folly?\nVal. I quoat it in your Ierkin\nThu. My Ierkin is a doublet\nVal. Well then, Ile double your folly\nThu. How?\nSil. What, angry, Sir Thurio, do you change colour?\nVal. Giue him leaue, Madam, he is a kind of Camelion\nThu. That hath more minde to feed on your bloud,\nthen liue in your ayre\nVal. You haue said Sir\nThu. I Sir, and done too for this time\nVal. I know it wel sir, you alwaies end ere you begin\nSil. A fine volly of words, gentleme[n], & quickly shot off\nVal. 'Tis indeed, Madam, we thank the giuer\nSil. Who is that Seruant?\nVal. Your selfe (sweet Lady) for you gaue the fire,\nSir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladiships lookes,\nAnd spends what he borrowes kindly in your company\nThu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall\nmake your wit bankrupt\nVal. I know it well sir: you haue an Exchequer of words,\nAnd I thinke, no other treasure to giue your followers:\nFor it appeares by their bare Liueries\nThat they liue by your bare words\nSil. No more, gentlemen, no more:\nHere comes my father\nDuk. Now, daughter Siluia, you are hard beset.\nSir Valentine, your father is in good health,\nWhat say you to a Letter from your friends\nOf much good newes?\nVal. My Lord, I will be thankfull,\nTo any happy messenger from thence\nDuk. Know ye Don Antonio, your Countriman?\nVal. I, my good Lord, I know the Gentleman\nTo be of worth, and worthy estimation,\nAnd not without desert so well reputed\nDuk. Hath he not a Sonne?\nVal. I, my good Lord, a Son, that well deserues\nThe honor, and regard of such a father\nDuk. You know him well?\nVal. I knew him as my selfe: for from our Infancie\nWe haue conuerst, and spent our howres together,\nAnd though my selfe haue beene an idle Trewant,\nOmitting the sweet benefit of time\nTo cloath mine age with Angel-like perfection:\nYet hath Sir Protheus (for that's his name)\nMade vse, and faire aduantage of his daies:\nHis yeares but yong, but his experience old:\nHis head vn-mellowed, but his Iudgement ripe;\nAnd in a word (for far behinde his worth\nComes all the praises that I now bestow.)\nHe is compleat in feature, and in minde,\nWith all good grace, to grace a Gentleman\nDuk. Beshrew me sir, but if he make this good\nHe is as worthy for an Empresse loue,\nAs meet to be an Emperors Councellor:\nWell, Sir: this Gentleman is come to me\nWith Commendation from great Potentates,\nAnd heere he meanes to spend his time a while,\nI thinke 'tis no vn-welcome newes to you\nVal. Should I haue wish'd a thing, it had beene he\nDuk. Welcome him then according to his worth:\nSiluia, I speake to you, and you Sir Thurio,\nFor Valentine, I need not cite him to it,\nI will send him hither to you presently\nVal. This is the Gentleman I told your Ladiship\nHad come along with me, but that his Mistresse\nDid hold his eyes, lockt in her Christall lookes\nSil. Be-like that now she hath enfranchis'd them\nVpon some other pawne for fealty\nVal. Nay sure, I thinke she holds them prisoners stil\nSil. Nay then he should be blind, and being blind\nHow could he see his way to seeke out you?\nVal. Why Lady, Loue hath twenty paire of eyes\nThur. They say that Loue hath not an eye at all\nVal. To see such Louers, Thurio, as your selfe,\nVpon a homely obiect, Loue can winke\nSil. Haue done, haue done: here comes y gentleman\nVal. Welcome, deer Protheus: Mistris, I beseech you\nConfirme his welcome, with some speciall fauor\nSil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hether,\nIf this be he you oft haue wish'd to heare from\nVal. Mistris, it is: sweet Lady, entertaine him\nTo be my fellow-seruant to your Ladiship\nSil. Too low a Mistres for so high a seruant\nPro. Not so, sweet Lady, but too meane a seruant\nTo haue a looke of such a worthy a Mistresse\nVal. Leaue off discourse of disabilitie:\nSweet Lady, entertaine him for your Seruant\nPro. My dutie will I boast of, nothing else\nSil. And dutie neuer yet did want his meed.\nSeruant, you are welcome to a worthlesse Mistresse\nPro. Ile die on him that saies so but your selfe\nSil. That you are welcome?\nPro. That you are worthlesse\nThur. Madam, my Lord your father wold speak with you\nSil. I wait vpon his pleasure: Come Sir Thurio,\nGoe with me: once more, new Seruant welcome;\nIle leaue you to confer of home affaires,\nWhen you haue done, we looke too heare from you\nPro. Wee'll both attend vpon your Ladiship\nVal. Now tell me: how do al from whence you came?\nPro. Your frends are wel, & haue the[m] much co[m]mended\nVal. And how doe yours?\nPro. I left them all in health\nVal. How does your Lady? & how thriues your loue?\nPro. My tales of Loue were wont to weary you,\nI know you ioy not in a Loue-discourse\nVal. I Protheus, but that life is alter'd now,\nI haue done pennance for contemning Loue,\nWhose high emperious thoughts haue punish'd me\nWith bitter fasts, with penitentiall grones,\nWith nightly teares, and daily hart-sore sighes,\nFor in reuenge of my contempt of loue,\nLoue hath chas'd sleepe from my enthralled eyes,\nAnd made them watchers of mine owne hearts sorrow.\nO gentle Protheus, Loue's a mighty Lord,\nAnd hath so humbled me, as I confesse\nThere is no woe to his correction,\nNor to his Seruice, no such ioy on earth:\nNow, no discourse, except it be of loue:\nNow can I breake my fast, dine, sup, and sleepe,\nVpon the very naked name of Loue\nPro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:\nWas this the Idoll, that you worship so?\nVal. Euen She; and is she not a heauenly Saint?\nPro. No; But she is an earthly Paragon\nVal. Call her diuine\nPro. I will not flatter her\nVal. O flatter me: for Loue delights in praises\nPro. When I was sick, you gaue me bitter pils,\nAnd I must minister the like to you\nVal. Then speake the truth by her; if not diuine,\nYet let her be a principalitie,\nSoueraigne to all the Creatures on the earth\nPro. Except my Mistresse\nVal. Sweet: except not any,\nExcept thou wilt except against my Loue\nPro. Haue I not reason to prefer mine owne?\nVal. And I will help thee to prefer her to:\nShee shall be dignified with this high honour,\nTo beare my Ladies traine, lest the base earth\nShould from her vesture chance to steale a kisse,\nAnd of so great a fauor growing proud,\nDisdaine to roote the Sommer-swelling flowre,\nAnd make rough winter euerlastingly\nPro. Why Valentine, what Bragadisme is this?\nVal. Pardon me (Protheus) all I can is nothing,\nTo her, whose worth, make other worthies nothing;\nShee is alone\nPro. Then let her alone\nVal. Not for the world: why man, she is mine owne,\nAnd I as rich in hauing such a Iewell\nAs twenty Seas, if all their sand were pearle,\nThe water, Nectar, and the Rocks pure gold.\nForgiue me, that I doe not dreame on thee,\nBecause thou seest me doate vpon my loue:\nMy foolish Riuall that her Father likes\n(Onely for his possessions are so huge)\nIs gone with her along, and I must after,\nFor Loue (thou know'st is full of iealousie.)\nPro. But she loues you?\nVal. I, and we are betroathd: nay more, our mariage howre,\nWith all the cunning manner of our flight\nDetermin'd of: how I must climbe her window,\nThe Ladder made of Cords, and all the means\nPlotted, and 'greed on for my happinesse.\nGood Protheus goe with me to my chamber,\nIn these affaires to aid me with thy counsaile\nPro. Goe on before: I shall enquire you forth:\nI must vnto the Road, to dis-embarque\nSome necessaries, that I needs must vse,\nAnd then Ile presently attend you\nVal. Will you make haste?\nEnter.\nPro. I will.\nEuen as one heate, another heate expels,\nOr as one naile, by strength driues out another.\nSo the remembrance of my former Loue\nIs by a newer obiect quite forgotten,\nIt is mine, or Valentines praise?\nHer true perfection, or my false transgression?\nThat makes me reasonlesse, to reason thus?\nShee is faire: and so is Iulia that I loue,\n(That I did loue, for now my loue is thaw'd,\nWhich like a waxen Image 'gainst a fire\nBeares no impression of the thing it was.)\nMe thinkes my zeale to Valentine is cold,\nAnd that I loue him not as I was wont:\nO, but I loue his Lady too-too much,\nAnd that's the reason I loue him so little.\nHow shall I doate on her with more aduice,\nThat thus without aduice begin to loue her?\n'Tis but her picture I haue yet beheld,\nAnd that hath dazel'd my reasons light:\nBut when I looke on her perfections,\nThere is no reason, but I shall be blinde.\nIf I can checke my erring loue, I will,\nIf not, to compasse her Ile vse my skill.\nExeunt.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Speed and Launce.\nSpeed. Launce, by mine honesty welcome to Padua\nLaun. Forsweare not thy selfe, sweet youth, for I am\nnot welcome. I reckon this alwaies, that a man is neuer\nvndon till hee be hang'd, nor neuer welcome to a place,\ntill some certaine shot be paid, and the Hostesse say welcome\nSpeed. Come-on you mad-cap: Ile to the Ale-house\nwith you presently; where, for one shot of fiue pence,\nthou shalt haue fiue thousand welcomes: But sirha, how\ndid thy Master part with Madam Iulia?\nLau. Marry after they cloas'd in earnest, they parted\nvery fairely in iest\nSpee. But shall she marry him?\nLau. No\nSpee. How then? shall he marry her?\nLau. No, neither\nSpee. What, are they broken?\nLau. No; they are both as whole as a fish\nSpee. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\nLau. Marry thus, when it stands well with him, it\nstands well with her\nSpee. What an asse art thou, I vnderstand thee not\nLau. What a blocke art thou, that thou canst not?\nMy staffe vnderstands me?\nSpee. What thou saist?\nLau. I, and what I do too: looke thee, Ile but leane,\nand my staffe vnderstands me\nSpee. It stands vnder thee indeed\nLau. Why, stand-vnder: and vnder-stand is all one\nSpee. But tell me true, wil't be a match?\nLau. Aske my dogge, if he say I, it will: if hee say\nno, it will: if hee shake his taile, and say nothing, it\nwill\nSpee. The conclusion is then, that it will\nLau. Thou shalt neuer get such a secret from me, but\nby a parable\nSpee. 'Tis well that I get it so: but Launce, how saist\nthou that that my master is become a notable Louer?\nLau. I neuer knew him otherwise\nSpee. Then how?\nLau. A notable Lubber: as thou reportest him to\nbee\nSpee. Why, thou whorson Asse, thou mistak'st me,\nLau. Why Foole, I meant not thee, I meant thy\nMaster\nSpee. I tell thee, my Master is become a hot Louer\nLau. Why, I tell thee, I care not, though hee burne\nhimselfe in Loue. If thou wilt goe with me to the Alehouse:\nif not, thou art an Hebrew, a Iew, and not worth\nthe name of a Christian\nSpee. Why?\nLau. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as\nto goe to the Ale with a Christian: Wilt thou goe?\nSpee. At thy seruice.\nExeunt.\nScoena Sexta.\nEnter Protheus solus.\nPro. To leaue my Iulia; shall I be forsworne?\nTo loue faire Siluia; shall I be forsworne?\nTo wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworne.\nAnd ev'n that Powre which gaue me first my oath\nProuokes me to this three-fold periurie.\nLoue bad mee sweare, and Loue bids me for-sweare;\nO sweet-suggesting Loue, if thou hast sin'd,\nTeach me (thy tempted subiect) to excuse it.\nAt first I did adore a twinkling Starre,\nBut now I worship a celestiall Sunne:\nVn-heedfull vowes may heedfully be broken,\nAnd he wants wit, that wants resolued will,\nTo learne his wit, t' exchange the bad for better;\nFie, fie, vnreuerend tongue, to call her bad,\nWhose soueraignty so oft thou hast preferd,\nWith twenty thousand soule-confirming oathes.\nI cannot leaue to loue; and yet I doe:\nBut there I leaue to loue, where I should loue.\nIulia I loose, and Valentine I loose,\nIf I keepe them, I needs must loose my selfe:\nIf I loose them, thus finde I by their losse,\nFor Valentine, my selfe: for Iulia, Siluia.\nI to my selfe am deerer then a friend,\nFor Loue is still most precious in it selfe,\nAnd Siluia (witnesse heauen that made her faire)\nShewes Iulia but a swarthy Ethiope.\nI will forget that Iulia is aliue,\nRemembring that my Loue to her is dead.\nAnd Valentine Ile hold an Enemie,\nAyming at Siluia as a sweeter friend.\nI cannot now proue constant to my selfe,\nWithout some treachery vs'd to Valentine.\nThis night he meaneth with a Corded-ladder\nTo climbe celestiall Siluia's chamber window,\nMy selfe in counsaile his competitor.\nNow presently Ile giue her father notice\nOf their disguising and pretended flight:\nWho (all inrag'd) will banish Valentine:\nFor Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter,\nBut Valentine being gon, Ile quickely crosse\nBy some slie tricke, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.\nLoue lend me wings, to make my purpose swift\nAs thou hast lent me wit, to plot this drift.\nEnter.\nScoena septima.\nEnter Iulia and Lucetta.\nIul. Counsaile, Lucetta, gentle girle assist me,\nAnd eu'n in kinde loue, I doe coniure thee,\nWho art the Table wherein all my thoughts\nAre visibly Character'd, and engrau'd,\nTo lesson me, and tell me some good meane\nHow with my honour I may vndertake\nA iourney to my louing Protheus\nLuc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long\nIul. A true-deuoted Pilgrime is not weary\nTo measure Kingdomes with his feeble steps,\nMuch lesse shall she that hath Loues wings to flie,\nAnd when the flight is made to one so deere,\nOf such diuine perfection as Sir Protheus\nLuc. Better forbeare, till Protheus make returne\nIul. Oh, know'st y not, his looks are my soules food?\nPitty the dearth that I haue pined in,\nBy longing for that food so long a time.\nDidst thou but know the inly touch of Loue,\nThou wouldst as soone goe kindle fire with snow\nAs seeke to quench the fire of Loue with words\nLuc. I doe not seeke to quench your Loues hot fire,\nBut qualifie the fires extreame rage,\nLest it should burne aboue the bounds of reason\nIul. The more thou dam'st it vp, the more it burnes:\nThe Current that with gentle murmure glides\n(Thou know'st) being stop'd, impatiently doth rage:\nBut when his faire course is not hindered,\nHe makes sweet musicke with th' enameld stones,\nGiuing a gentle kisse to euery sedge\nHe ouer-taketh in his pilgrimage.\nAnd so by many winding nookes he straies\nWith willing sport to the wilde Ocean.\nThen let me goe, and hinder not my course:\nIle be as patient as a gentle streame,\nAnd make a pastime of each weary step,\nTill the last step haue brought me to my Loue,\nAnd there Ile rest, as after much turmoile\nA blessed soule doth in Elizium\nLuc. But in what habit will you goe along?\nIul. Not like a woman, for I would preuent\nThe loose encounters of lasciuious men:\nGentle Lucetta, fit me with such weedes\nAs may beseeme some well reputed Page\nLuc. Why then your Ladiship must cut your haire\nIul. No girle, Ile knit it vp in silken strings,\nWith twentie od-conceited true-loue knots:\nTo be fantastique, may become a youth\nOf greater time then I shall shew to be\nLuc. What fashion (Madam) shall I make your breeches?\nIul. That fits as well, as tell me (good my Lord)\nWhat compasse will you weare your Farthingale?\nWhy eu'n what fashion thou best likes (Lucetta.)\nLuc. You must needs haue the[m] with a cod-peece Ma[dam]\nIul. Out, out, (Lucetta) that wilbe illfauourd\nLuc. A round hose (Madam) now's not worth a pin\nVnlesse you haue a cod-peece to stick pins on\nIul. Lucetta, as thou lou'st me let me haue\nWhat thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly.\nBut tell me (wench) how will the world repute me\nFor vndertaking so vnstaid a iourney?\nI feare me it will make me scandaliz'd\nLuc. If you thinke so, then stay at home, and go not\nIul. Nay, that I will not\nLuc. Then neuer dreame on Infamy, but go:\nIf Protheus like your iourney, when you come,\nNo matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:\nI feare me he will scarce be pleas'd with all\nIul. That is the least (Lucetta) of my feare:\nA thousand oathes, an Ocean of his teares,\nAnd instances of infinite of Loue,\nWarrant me welcome to my Protheus\nLuc. All these are seruants to deceitfull men\nIul. Base men, that vse them to so base effect;\nBut truer starres did gouerne Protheus birth,\nHis words are bonds, his oathes are oracles,\nHis loue sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\nHis teares, pure messengers, sent from his heart,\nHis heart, as far from fraud, as heauen from earth\nLuc. Pray heau'n he proue so when you come to him\nIul. Now, as thou lou'st me, do him not that wrong,\nTo beare a hard opinion of his truth:\nOnely deserue my loue, by louing him,\nAnd presently goe with me to my chamber\nTo take a note of what I stand in need of,\nTo furnish me vpon my longing iourney:\nAll that is mine I leaue at thy dispose,\nMy goods, my Lands, my reputation,\nOnely, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence:\nCome; answere not: but to it presently,\nI am impatient of my tarriance.\nExeunt.\nActus Tertius, Scena Prima.\nEnter Duke, Thurio, Protheus, Valentine, Launce, Speed.\nDuke. Sir Thurio, giue vs leaue (I pray) a while,\nWe haue some secrets to confer about.\nNow tell me Protheus, what's your will with me?\nPro. My gracious Lord, that which I wold discouer,\nThe Law of friendship bids me to conceale,\nBut when I call to minde your gracious fauours\nDone to me (vndeseruing as I am)\nMy dutie pricks me on to vtter that\nWhich else, no worldly good should draw from me:\nKnow (worthy Prince) Sir Valentine my friend\nThis night intends to steale away your daughter:\nMy selfe am one made priuy to the plot.\nI know you haue determin'd to bestow her\nOn Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates,\nAnd should she thus be stolne away from you,\nIt would be much vexation to your age.\nThus (for my duties sake) I rather chose\nTo crosse my friend in his intended drift,\nThen (by concealing it) heap on your head\nA pack of sorrowes, which would presse you downe\n(Being vnpreuented) to your timelesse graue\nDuke. Protheus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\nWhich to requite, command me while I liue.\nThis loue of theirs, my selfe haue often seene,\nHaply when they haue iudg'd me fast asleepe,\nAnd oftentimes haue purpos'd to forbid\nSir Valentine her companie, and my Court.\nBut fearing lest my iealous ayme might erre,\nAnd so (vnworthily) disgrace the man\n(A rashnesse that I euer yet haue shun'd)\nI gaue him gentle lookes, thereby to finde\nThat which thy selfe hast now disclos'd to me.\nAnd that thou maist perceiue my feare of this,\nKnowing that tender youth is soone suggested,\nI nightly lodge her in an vpper Towre,\nThe key whereof, my selfe haue euer kept:\nAnd thence she cannot be conuay'd away\nPro. Know (noble Lord) they haue deuis'd a meane\nHow he her chamber-window will ascend,\nAnd with a Corded-ladder fetch her downe:\nFor which, the youthfull Louer now is gone,\nAnd this way comes he with it presently.\nWhere (if it please you) you may intercept him.\nBut (good my Lord) doe it so cunningly\nThat my discouery be not aimed at:\nFor, loue of you, not hate vnto my friend,\nHath made me publisher of this pretence\nDuke. Vpon mine Honor, he shall neuer know\nThat I had any light from thee of this\nPro. Adiew, my Lord, Sir Valentine is comming\nDuk. Sir Valentine, whether away so fast?\nVal. Please it your Grace, there is a Messenger\nThat stayes to beare my Letters to my friends,\nAnd I am going to deliuer them\nDuk. Be they of much import?\nVal. The tenure of them doth but signifie\nMy health, and happy being at your Court\nDuk. Nay then no matter: stay with me a while,\nI am to breake with thee of some affaires\nThat touch me neere: wherein thou must be secret.\n'Tis not vnknown to thee, that I haue sought\nTo match my friend Sir Thurio, to my daughter\nVal. I know it well (my Lord) and sure the Match\nWere rich and honourable: besides, the gentleman\nIs full of Vertue, Bounty, Worth, and Qualities\nBeseeming such a Wife, as your faire daughter:\nCannot your Grace win her to fancie him?\nDuk. No, trust me, She is peeuish, sullen, froward,\nProwd, disobedient, stubborne, lacking duty,\nNeither regarding that she is my childe,\nNor fearing me, as if I were her father:\nAnd may I say to thee, this pride of hers\n(Vpon aduice) hath drawne my loue from her,\nAnd where I thought the remnant of mine age\nShould haue beene cherish'd by her child-like dutie,\nI now am full resolu'd to take a wife,\nAnd turne her out, to who will take her in:\nThen let her beauty be her wedding dowre:\nFor me, and my possessions she esteemes not\nVal. What would your Grace haue me to do in this?\nDuk. There is a Lady in Verona heere\nWhom I affect: but she is nice, and coy,\nAnd naught esteemes my aged eloquence.\nNow therefore would I haue thee to my Tutor\n(For long agone I haue forgot to court,\nBesides the fashion of the time is chang'd)\nHow, and which way I may bestow my selfe\nTo be regarded in her sun-bright eye\nVal. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words,\nDumbe Iewels often in their silent kinde\nMore then quicke words, doe moue a womans minde\nDuk. But she did scorne a present that I sent her,\nVal. A woman somtime scorns what best co[n]tents her.\nSend her another: neuer giue her ore,\nFor scorne at first, makes after-loue the more.\nIf she doe frowne, 'tis not in hate of you,\nBut rather to beget more loue in you.\nIf she doe chide, 'tis not to haue you gone,\nFor why, the fooles are mad, if left alone.\nTake no repulse, what euer she doth say,\nFor, get you gon, she doth not meane away.\nFlatter, and praise, commend, extoll their graces:\nThough nere so blacke, say they haue Angells faces,\nThat man that hath a tongue, I say is no man,\nIf with his tongue he cannot win a woman\nDuk. But she I meane, is promis'd by her friends\nVnto a youthfull Gentleman of worth,\nAnd kept seuerely from resort of men,\nThat no man hath accesse by day to her\nVal. Why then I would resort to her by night\nDuk. I, but the doores be lockt, and keyes kept safe,\nThat no man hath recourse to her by night\nVal. What letts but one may enter at her window?\nDuk. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\nAnd built so sheluing, that one cannot climbe it\nWithout apparant hazard of his life\nVal. Why then a Ladder quaintly made of Cords\nTo cast vp, with a paire of anchoring hookes,\nWould serue to scale another Hero's towre,\nSo bold Leander would aduenture it\nDuk. Now as thou art a Gentleman of blood\nAduise me, where I may haue such a Ladder\nVal. When would you vse it? pray sir, tell me that\nDuk. This very night; for Loue is like a childe\nThat longs for euery thing that he can come by\nVal. By seauen a clock, ile get you such a Ladder\nDuk But harke thee: I will goe to her alone,\nHow shall I best conuey the Ladder thither?\nVal. It will be light (my Lord) that you may beare it\nVnder a cloake, that is of any length\nDuk. A cloake as long as thine will serue the turne?\nVal. I my good Lord\nDuk. Then let me see thy cloake,\nIle get me one of such another length\nVal. Why any cloake will serue the turn (my Lord)\nDuk. How shall I fashion me to weare a cloake?\nI pray thee let me feele thy cloake vpon me.\nWhat Letter is this same? what's here? to Siluia?\nAnd heere an Engine fit for my proceeding,\nIle be so bold to breake the seale for once.\nMy thoughts do harbour with my Siluia nightly,\nAnd slaues they are to me, that send them flying.\nOh, could their Master come, and goe as lightly,\nHimselfe would lodge where (senceles) they are lying.\nMy Herald Thoughts, in thy pure bosome rest-them,\nWhile I (their King) that thither them importune\nDoe curse the grace, that with such grace hath blest them,\nBecause my selfe doe want my seruants fortune.\nI curse my selfe, for they are sent by me,\nThat they should harbour where their Lord should be.\nWhat's here? Siluia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\n'Tis so: and heere's the Ladder for the purpose.\nWhy Phaeton (for thou art Merops sonne)\nWilt thou aspire to guide the heauenly Car?\nAnd with thy daring folly burne the world?\nWilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?\nGoe base Intruder, ouer-weening Slaue,\nBestow thy fawning smiles on equall mates,\nAnd thinke my patience, (more then thy desert)\nIs priuiledge for thy departure hence.\nThanke me for this, more then for all the fauors\nWhich (all too-much) I haue bestowed on thee.\nBut if thou linger in my Territories\nLonger then swiftest expedition\nWill giue thee time to leaue our royall Court,\nBy heauen, my wrath shall farre exceed the loue\nI euer bore my daughter, or thy selfe.\nBe gone, I will not heare thy vaine excuse,\nBut as thou lou'st thy life, make speed from hence\nVal. And why not death, rather then liuing torment?\nTo die, is to be banisht from my selfe,\nAnd Siluia is my selfe: banish'd from her\nIs selfe from selfe. A deadly banishment:\nWhat light, is light, if Siluia be not seene?\nWhat ioy is ioy, if Siluia be not by?\nVnlesse it be to thinke that she is by\nAnd feed vpon the shadow of perfection.\nExcept I be by Siluia in the night,\nThere is no musicke in the Nightingale.\nVnlesse I looke on Siluia in the day,\nThere is no day for me to looke vpon.\nShee is my essence, and I leaue to be;\nIf I be not by her faire influence\nFoster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept aliue.\nI flie not death, to flie his deadly doome,\nTarry I heere, I but attend on death,\nBut flie I hence, I flie away from life\nPro. Run (boy) run, run, and seeke him out\nLau. So-hough, Soa hough-\nPro. What seest thou?\nLau. Him we goe to finde,\nThere's not a haire on's head, but 'tis a Valentine\nPro. Valentine?\nVal. No\nPro. Who then? his Spirit?\nVal. Neither,\nPro. What then?\nVal. Nothing\nLau. Can nothing speake? Master, shall I strike?\nPro. Who wouldst thou strike?\nLau. Nothing\nPro. Villaine, forbeare\nLau. Why Sir, Ile strike nothing: I pray you\nPro. Sirha, I say forbeare: friend Valentine, a word\nVal. My eares are stopt, & cannot hear good newes,\nSo much of bad already hath possest them\nPro. Then in dumbe silence will I bury mine,\nFor they are harsh, vn-tuneable, and bad\nVal. Is Siluia dead?\nPro. No, Valentine\nVal. No Valentine indeed, for sacred Siluia,\nHath she forsworne me?\nPro. No, Valentine\nVal. No Valentine, if Siluia haue forsworne me.\nWhat is your newes?\nLau. Sir, there is a proclamation, y you are vanished\nPro. That thou art banish'd: oh that's the newes,\nFrom hence, from Siluia, and from me thy friend\nVal. Oh, I haue fed vpon this woe already,\nAnd now excesse of it will make me surfet.\nDoth Siluia know that I am banish'd?\nPro. I, I: and she hath offered to the doome\n(Which vn-reuerst stands in effectuall force)\nA Sea of melting pearle, which some call teares;\nThose at her fathers churlish feete she tenderd,\nWith them vpon her knees, her humble selfe,\nWringing her hands, whose whitenes so became them,\nAs if but now they waxed pale for woe:\nBut neither bended knees, pure hands held vp,\nSad sighes, deepe grones, nor siluer-shedding teares\nCould penetrate her vncompassionate Sire;\nBut Valentine, if he be tane, must die.\nBesides, her intercession chaf'd him so,\nWhen she for thy repeale was suppliant,\nThat to close prison he commanded her,\nWith many bitter threats of biding there\nVal. No more: vnles the next word that thou speak'st\nHaue some malignant power vpon my life:\nIf so: I pray thee breath it in mine eare,\nAs ending Antheme of my endlesse dolor\nPro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not helpe,\nAnd study helpe for that which thou lament'st,\nTime is the Nurse, and breeder of all good;\nHere, if thou stay, thou canst not see thy loue:\nBesides, thy staying will abridge thy life:\nHope is a louers staffe, walke hence with that\nAnd manage it, against despairing thoughts:\nThy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\nWhich, being writ to me, shall be deliuer'd\nEuen in the milke-white bosome of thy Loue.\nThe time now serues not to expostulate,\nCome, Ile conuey thee through the City-gate.\nAnd ere I part with thee, confer at large\nOf all that may concerne thy Loue-affaires:\nAs thou lou'st Siluia (though not for thy selfe)\nRegard thy danger, and along with me\nVal. I pray thee Launce, and if thou seest my Boy\nBid him make haste, and meet me at the North-gate\nPro. Goe sirha, finde him out: Come Valentine\nVal. Oh my deere Siluia; haplesse Valentine\nLaunce. I am but a foole, looke you, and yet I haue\nthe wit to thinke my Master is a kinde of a knaue: but\nthat's all one, if he be but one knaue: He liues not now\nthat knowes me to be in loue, yet I am in loue, but a\nTeeme of horse shall not plucke that from me: nor who\n'tis I loue: and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, I\nwill not tell my selfe: and yet 'tis a Milke-maid: yet 'tis\nnot a maid: for shee hath had Gossips: yet 'tis a maid,\nfor she is her Masters maid, and serues for wages. Shee\nhath more qualities then a Water-Spaniell, which is\nmuch in a bare Christian: Heere is the Catelog of her\nCondition. Inprimis. Shee can fetch and carry: why\na horse can doe no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but\nonely carry, therefore is shee better then a Iade. Item.\nShe can milke, looke you, a sweet vertue in a maid with\ncleane hands\nSpeed. How now Signior Launce? what newes with\nyour Mastership?\nLa. With my Mastership? why, it is at Sea:\nSp. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word: what\nnewes then in your paper?\nLa. The black'st newes that euer thou heard'st\nSp. Why man? how blacke?\nLa. Why, as blacke as Inke\nSp. Let me read them?\nLa. Fie on thee Iolt-head, thou canst not read\nSp. Thou lyest: I can\nLa. I will try thee: tell me this: who begot thee?\nSp. Marry, the son of my Grand-father\nLa. Oh illiterate loyterer; it was the sonne of thy\nGrand-mother: this proues that thou canst not read\nSp. Come foole, come: try me in thy paper\nLa. There: and S[aint]. Nicholas be thy speed\nSp. Inprimis she can milke\nLa. I that she can\nSp. Item, she brewes good Ale\nLa. And thereof comes the prouerbe: (Blessing of\nyour heart, you brew good Ale.)\nSp. Item, she can sowe\nLa. That's as much as to say (Can she so?)\nSp. Item she can knit\nLa. What neede a man care for a stock with a wench,\nWhen she can knit him a stocke?\nSp. Item, she can wash and scoure\nLa. A speciall vertue: for then shee neede not be\nwash'd, and scowr'd\nSp. Item, she can spin\nLa. Then may I set the world on wheeles, when she\ncan spin for her liuing\nSp. Item, she hath many namelesse vertues\nLa. That's as much as to say Bastard-vertues: that\nindeede know not their fathers; and therefore haue no\nnames\nSp. Here follow her vices\nLa. Close at the heeles of her vertues\nSp. Item, shee is not to be fasting in respect of her\nbreath\nLa. Well: that fault may be mended with a breakfast:\nread on\nSp. Item, she hath a sweet mouth\nLa. That makes amends for her soure breath\nSp. Item, she doth talke in her sleepe\nLa. It's no matter for that; so shee sleepe not in her\ntalke\nSp. Item, she is slow in words\nLa. Oh villaine, that set this downe among her vices;\nTo be slow in words, is a womans onely vertue:\nI pray thee out with't, and place it for her chiefe vertue\nSp. Item, she is proud\nLa. Out with that too:\nIt was Eues legacie, and cannot be t'ane from her\nSp. Item, she hath no teeth\nLa. I care not for that neither: because I loue crusts\nSp. Item, she is curst\nLa. Well: the best is, she hath no teeth to bite\nSp. Item, she will often praise her liquor\nLa. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not,\nI will; for good things should be praised\nSp. Item, she is too liberall\nLa. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ downe\nshe is slow of: of her purse, shee shall not, for that ile\nkeepe shut: Now, of another thing shee may, and that\ncannot I helpe. Well, proceede\nSp. Item, shee hath more haire then wit, and more\nfaults then haires, and more wealth then faults\nLa. Stop there: Ile haue her: she was mine, and not\nmine, twice or thrice in that last Article: rehearse that\nonce more\nSp. Item, she hath more haire then wit\nLa. More haire then wit: it may be ile proue it: The\ncouer of the salt, hides the salt, and therefore it is more\nthen the salt; the haire that couers the wit, is more\nthen the wit; for the greater hides the lesse: What's\nnext?\nSp. And more faults then haires\nLa. That's monstrous: oh that that were out\nSp. And more wealth then faults\nLa. Why that word makes the faults gracious:\nWell, ile haue her: and if it be a match, as nothing is\nimpossible\nSp. What then?\nLa. Why then, will I tell thee, that thy Master staies\nfor thee at the North gate\nSp. For me?\nLa. For thee? I, who art thou? he hath staid for a better\nman then thee\nSp. And must I goe to him?\nLa. Thou must run to him; for thou hast staid so long,\nthat going will scarce serue the turne\nSp. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your loue\nLetters\nLa. Now will he be swing'd for reading my Letter;\nAn vnmannerly slaue, that will thrust himselfe into secrets:\nIle after, to reioyce in the boyes correctio[n].\nExeunt.\nScena Secunda.\nEnter Duke, Thurio, Protheus.\nDu. Sir Thurio, feare not, but that she will loue you\nNow Valentine is banish'd from her sight\nTh. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most,\nForsworne my company, and rail'd at me,\nThat I am desperate of obtaining her\nDu. This weake impresse of Loue, is as a figure\nTrenched in ice, which with an houres heate\nDissolues to water, and doth loose his forme.\nA little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\nAnd worthlesse Valentine shall be forgot.\nHow now sir Protheus, is your countriman\n(According to our Proclamation) gon?\nPro. Gon, my good Lord\nDu. My daughter takes his going grieuously?\nPro. A little time (my Lord) will kill that griefe\nDu. So I beleeue: but Thurio thinkes not so:\nProtheus, the good conceit I hold of thee,\n(For thou hast showne some signe of good desert)\nMakes me the better to confer with thee\nPro. Longer then I proue loyall to your Grace,\nLet me not liue, to looke vpon your Grace\nDu. Thou know'st how willingly, I would effect\nThe match betweene sir Thurio, and my daughter?\nPro. I doe my Lord\nDu. And also, I thinke, thou art not ignorant\nHow she opposes her against my will?\nPro. She did my Lord, when Valentine was here\nDu. I, and peruersly, she perseuers so:\nWhat might we doe to make the girle forget\nThe loue of Valentine, and loue sir Thurio?\nPro. The best way is, to slander Valentine,\nWith falsehood, cowardize, and poore discent:\nThree things, that women highly hold in hate\nDu. I, but she'll thinke, that it is spoke in hate\nPro. I, if his enemy deliuer it.\nTherefore it must with circumstance be spoken\nBy one, whom she esteemeth as his friend\nDu. Then you must vndertake to slander him\nPro. And that (my Lord) I shall be loath to doe:\n'Tis an ill office for a Gentleman,\nEspecially against his very friend\nDu. Where your good word cannot aduantage him,\nYour slander neuer can endamage him;\nTherefore the office is indifferent,\nBeing intreated to it by your friend\nPro. You haue preuail'd (my Lord) if I can doe it\nBy ought that I can speake in his dispraise,\nShe shall not long continue loue to him:\nBut say this weede her loue from Valentine,\nIt followes not that she will loue sir Thurio\nTh. Therefore, as you vnwinde her loue from him;\nLeast it should rauell, and be good to none,\nYou must prouide to bottome it on me:\nWhich must be done, by praising me as much\nAs you, in worth dispraise, sir Valentine\nDu. And Protheus, we dare trust you in this kinde,\nBecause we know (on Valentines report)\nYou are already loues firme votary,\nAnd cannot soone reuolt, and change your minde.\nVpon this warrant, shall you haue accesse,\nWhere you, with Siluia, may conferre at large.\nFor she is lumpish, heauy, mellancholly,\nAnd (for your friends sake) will be glad of you;\nWhere you may temper her, by your perswasion,\nTo hate yong Valentine, and loue my friend\nPro. As much as I can doe, I will effect:\nBut you sir Thurio, are not sharpe enough:\nYou must lay Lime, to tangle her desires\nBy walefull Sonnets, whose composed Rimes\nShould be full fraught with seruiceable vowes\nDu. I, much is the force of heauen-bred Poesie\nPro. Say that vpon the altar of her beauty\nYou sacrifice your teares, your sighes, your heart:\nWrite till your inke be dry: and with your teares\nMoist it againe: and frame some feeling line,\nThat may discouer such integrity:\nFor Orpheus Lute, was strung with Poets sinewes,\nWhose golden touch could soften steele and stones;\nMake Tygers tame, and huge Leuiathans\nForsake vnsounded deepes, to dance on Sands.\nAfter your dire-lamenting Elegies,\nVisit by night your Ladies chamber-window\nWith some sweet Consort; To their Instruments\nTune a deploring dumpe: the nights dead silence\nWill well become such sweet complaining grieuance:\nThis, or else nothing, will inherit her\nDu. This discipline, showes thou hast bin in loue\nTh. And thy aduice, this night, ile put in practise:\nTherefore, sweet Protheus, my direction-giuer,\nLet vs into the City presently\nTo sort some Gentlemen, well skil'd in Musicke.\nI haue a Sonnet, that will serue the turne\nTo giue the on-set to thy good aduise\nDu. About it Gentlemen\nPro. We'll wait vpon your Grace, till after Supper,\nAnd afterward determine our proceedings\nDu. Euen now about it, I will pardon you.\nExeunt.\nActus Quartus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Valentine, Speed, and certaine Out-lawes.\n1.Outl. Fellowes, stand fast: I see a passenger\n2.Out. If there be ten, shrinke not, but down with 'em\n3.Out. Stand sir, and throw vs that you haue about 'ye.\nIf not: we'll make you sit, and rifle you\nSp. Sir we are vndone; these are the Villaines\nThat all the Trauailers doe feare so much\nVal. My friends\n1.Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies\n2.Out. Peace: we'll heare him\n3.Out. I by my beard will we: for he is a proper man\nVal. Then know that I haue little wealth to loose;\nA man I am, cross'd with aduersitie:\nMy riches, are these poore habiliments,\nOf which, if you should here disfurnish me,\nYou take the sum and substance that I haue\n2.Out. Whether trauell you?\nVal. To Verona\n1.Out. Whence came you?\nVal. From Millaine\n3.Out. Haue you long soiourn'd there?\nVal. Some sixteene moneths, and longer might haue staid,\nIf crooked fortune had not thwarted me\n1.Out. What, were you banish'd thence?\nVal. I was\n2.Out. For what offence?\nVal. For that which now torments me to rehearse;\nI kil'd a man, whose death I much repent,\nBut yet I slew him manfully, in fight,\nWithout false vantage, or base treachery\n1.Out. Why nere repent it, if it were done so;\nBut were you banisht for so small a fault?\nVal. I was, and held me glad of such a doome\n2.Out. Haue you the Tongues?\nVal. My youthfull trauaile, therein made me happy,\nOr else I often had beene often miserable\n3.Out. By the bare scalpe of Robin Hoods fat Fryer,\nThis fellow were a King, for our wilde faction\n1.Out. We'll haue him: Sirs, a word\nSp. Master, be one of them:\nIt's an honourable kinde of theeuery\nVal. Peace villaine\n2.Out. Tell vs this: haue you any thing to take to?\nVal. Nothing but my fortune\n3.Out. Know then, that some of vs are Gentlemen,\nSuch as the fury of vngouern'd youth\nThrust from the company of awfull men.\nMy selfe was from Verona banished,\nFor practising to steale away a Lady,\nAnd heire and Neece, alide vnto the Duke\n2.Out. And I from Mantua, for a Gentleman,\nWho, in my moode, I stab'd vnto the heart\n1.Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these.\nBut to the purpose: for we cite our faults,\nThat they may hold excus'd our lawlesse liues;\nAnd partly seeing you are beautifide\nWith goodly shape; and by your owne report,\nA Linguist, and a man of such perfection,\nAs we doe in our quality much want\n2.Out. Indeede because you are a banish'd man,\nTherefore, aboue the rest, we parley to you:\nAre you content to be our Generall?\nTo make a vertue of necessity,\nAnd liue as we doe in this wildernesse?\n3.Out. What saist thou? wilt thou be of our consort?\nSay I, and be the captaine of vs all:\nWe'll doe thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,\nLoue thee, as our Commander, and our King\n1.Out. But if thou scorne our curtesie, thou dyest\n2.Out. Thou shalt not liue, to brag what we haue offer'd\nVal. I take your offer, and will liue with you,\nProuided that you do no outrages\nOn silly women, or poore passengers\n3.Out. No, we detest such vile base practises.\nCome, goe with vs, we'll bring thee to our Crewes,\nAnd show thee all the Treasure we haue got;\nWhich, with our selues, all rest at thy dispose.\nExeunt.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Protheus, Thurio, Iulia, Host, Musitian, Siluia.\nPro. Already haue I bin false to Valentine,\nAnd now I must be as vniust to Thurio,\nVnder the colour of commending him,\nI haue accesse my owne loue to prefer.\nBut Siluia is too faire, too true, too holy,\nTo be corrupted with my worthlesse guifts;\nWhen I protest true loyalty to her,\nShe twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\nWhen to her beauty I commend my vowes,\nShe bids me thinke how I haue bin forsworne\nIn breaking faith with Iulia, whom I lou'd;\nAnd notwithstanding all her sodaine quips,\nThe least whereof would quell a louers hope:\nYet (Spaniel-like) the more she spurnes my loue,\nThe more it growes, and fawneth on her still;\nBut here comes Thurio; now must we to her window,\nAnd giue some euening Musique to her eare\nTh. How now, sir Protheus, are you crept before vs?\nPro. I gentle Thurio, for you know that loue\nWill creepe in seruice, where it cannot goe\nTh. I, but I hope, Sir, that you loue not here\nPro. Sir, but I doe: or else I would be hence\nTh. Who, Siluia?\nPro. I, Siluia, for your sake\nTh. I thanke you for your owne: Now Gentlemen\nLet's tune: and too it lustily a while\nHo. Now, my yong guest; me thinks your' allycholly;\nI pray you why is it?\nIu. Marry (mine Host) because I cannot be merry\nHo. Come, we'll haue you merry: ile bring you where\nyou shall heare Musique, and see the Gentleman that\nyou ask'd for\nIu. But shall I heare him speake\nHo. I that you shall\nIu. That will be Musique\nHo. Harke, harke\nIu. Is he among these?\nHo. I: but peace, let's heare'm\nSong. Who is Siluia? what is she?\nThat all our Swaines commend her?\nHoly, faire, and wise is she,\nThe heauen such grace did lend her,\nthat she might admired be.\nIs she kinde as she is faire?\nFor beauty liues with kindnesse:\nLoue doth to her eyes repaire,\nTo helpe him of his blindnesse:\nAnd being help'd, inhabits there.\nThen to Siluia, let vs sing,\nThat Siluia is excelling;\nShe excels each mortall thing\nVpon the dull earth dwelling.\nTo her let vs Garlands bring\nHo. How now? are you sadder then you were before;\nHow doe you, man? the Musicke likes you not\nIu. You mistake: the Musitian likes me not\nHo. Why, my pretty youth?\nIu. He plaies false (father.)\nHo. How, out of tune on the strings\nIu. Not so: but yet\nSo false that he grieues my very heart-strings\nHo. You haue a quicke eare\nIu. I, I would I were deafe: it makes me haue a slow heart\nHo. I perceiue you delight not in Musique\nIu. Not a whit, when it iars so\nHo. Harke, what fine change is in the Musique\nIu. I: that change is the spight\nHo. You would haue them alwaies play but one thing\nIu. I would alwaies haue one play but one thing.\nBut Host, doth this Sir Protheus, that we talke on,\nOften resort vnto this Gentlewoman?\nHo. I tell you what Launce his man told me,\nHe lou'd her out of all nicke\nIu. Where is Launce?\nHo. Gone to seeke his dog, which to morrow, by his\nMasters command, hee must carry for a present to his\nLady\nIu. Peace, stand aside, the company parts\nPro. Sir Thurio, feare not you, I will so pleade,\nThat you shall say, my cunning drift excels\nTh. Where meete we?\nPro. At Saint Gregories well\nTh. Farewell\nPro. Madam: good eu'n to your Ladiship\nSil. I thanke you for your Musique (Gentlemen)\nWho is that that spake?\nPro. One (Lady) if you knew his pure hearts truth,\nYou would quickly learne to know him by his voice\nSil. Sir Protheus, as I take it\nPro. Sir Protheus (gentle Lady) and your Seruant\nSil. What's your will?\nPro. That I may compasse yours\nSil. You haue your wish: my will is euen this,\nThat presently you hie you home to bed:\nThou subtile, periur'd, false, disloyall man:\nThink'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitlesse,\nTo be seduced by thy flattery,\nThat has't deceiu'd so many with thy vowes?\nReturne, returne, and make thy loue amends:\nFor me (by this pale queene of night I sweare)\nI am so farre from granting thy request,\nThat I despise thee, for thy wrongfull suite;\nAnd by and by intend to chide my selfe,\nEuen for this time I spend in talking to thee\nPro. I grant (sweet loue) that I did loue a Lady,\nBut she is dead\nIu. 'Twere false, if I should speake it;\nFor I am sure she is not buried\nSil. Say that she be: yet Valentine thy friend\nSuruiues; to whom (thy selfe art witnesse)\nI am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd\nTo wrong him, with thy importunacy?\nPro. I likewise heare that Valentine is dead\nSil. And so suppose am I; for in her graue\nAssure thy selfe, my loue is buried\nPro. Sweet Lady, let me rake it from the earth\nSil. Goe to thy Ladies graue and call hers thence,\nOr at the least, in hers, sepulcher thine\nIul. He heard not that\nPro. Madam: if your heart be so obdurate:\nVouchsafe me yet your Picture for my loue,\nThe Picture that is hanging in your chamber:\nTo that ile speake, to that ile sigh and weepe:\nFor since the substance of your perfect selfe\nIs else deuoted, I am but a shadow;\nAnd to your shadow, will I make true loue\nIul. If 'twere a substance you would sure deceiue it,\nAnd make it but a shadow, as I am\nSil. I am very loath to be your Idoll Sir;\nBut, since your falsehood shall become you well\nTo worship shadowes, and adore false shapes,\nSend to me in the morning, and ile send it:\nAnd so, good rest\nPro. As wretches haue ore-night\nThat wait for execution in the morne\nIul. Host, will you goe?\nHo. By my hallidome, I was fast asleepe\nIul. Pray you, where lies Sir Protheus?\nHo. Marry, at my house:\nTrust me, I thinke 'tis almost day\nIul. Not so: but it hath bin the longest night\nThat ere I watch'd, and the most heauiest.\nScoena Tertia.\nEnter Eglamore, Siluia.\nEg. This is the houre that Madam Siluia\nEntreated me to call, and know her minde:\nTher's some great matter she'ld employ me in.\nMadam, Madam\nSil. Who cals?\nEg. Your seruant, and your friend;\nOne that attends your Ladiships command\nSil. Sir Eglamore, a thousand times good morrow\nEg. As many (worthy Lady) to your selfe:\nAccording to your Ladiships impose,\nI am thus early come, to know what seruice\nIt is your pleasure to command me in\nSil. Oh Eglamoure, thou art a Gentleman:\nThinke not I flatter (for I sweare I doe not)\nValiant, wise, remorse-full, well accomplish'd.\nThou art not ignorant what deere good will\nI beare vnto the banish'd Valentine:\nNor how my father would enforce me marry\nVaine Thurio (whom my very soule abhor'd.)\nThy selfe hast lou'd, and I haue heard thee say\nNo griefe did euer come so neere thy heart,\nAs when thy Lady, and thy true-loue dide,\nVpon whose Graue thou vow'dst pure chastitie:\nSir Eglamoure: I would to Valentine\nTo Mantua, where I heare, he makes aboad;\nAnd for the waies are dangerous to passe,\nI doe desire thy worthy company,\nVpon whose faith and honor, I repose.\nVrge not my fathers anger (Eglamoure)\nBut thinke vpon my griefe (a Ladies griefe)\nAnd on the iustice of my flying hence,\nTo keepe me from a most vnholy match,\nWhich heauen and fortune still rewards with plagues.\nI doe desire thee, euen from a heart\nAs full of sorrowes, as the Sea of sands,\nTo beare me company, and goe with me:\nIf not, to hide what I haue said to thee,\nThat I may venture to depart alone\nEgl. Madam, I pitty much your grieuances,\nWhich, since I know they vertuously are plac'd,\nI giue consent to goe along with you,\nWreaking as little what betideth me,\nAs much, I wish all good befortune you.\nWhen will you goe?\nSil. This euening comming\nEg. Where shall I meete you?\nSil. At Frier Patrickes Cell,\nWhere I intend holy Confession\nEg. I will not faile your Ladiship:\nGood morrow (gentle Lady.)\nSil. Good morrow, kinde Sir Eglamoure.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Launce, Protheus, Iulia, Siluia.\nLau. When a mans seruant shall play the Curre with\nhim (looke you) it goes hard: one that I brought vp of\na puppy: one that I sau'd from drowning, when three or\nfoure of his blinde brothers and sisters went to it: I haue\ntaught him (euen as one would say precisely, thus I\nwould teach a dog) I was sent to deliuer him, as a present\nto Mistris Siluia, from my Master; and I came no\nsooner into the dyning-chamber, but he steps me to her\nTrencher, and steales her Capons-leg: O, 'tis a foule\nthing, when a Cur cannot keepe himselfe in all companies:\nI would haue (as one should say) one that takes vpon\nhim to be a dog indeede, to be, as it were, a dog at all\nthings. If I had not had more wit then he, to take a fault\nvpon me that he did, I thinke verily hee had bin hang'd\nfor't: sure as I liue he had suffer'd for't: you shall iudge:\nHee thrusts me himselfe into the company of three or\nfoure gentleman-like-dogs, vnder the Dukes table: hee\nhad not bin there (blesse the marke) a pissing while, but\nall the chamber smelt him: out with the dog (saies one)\nwhat cur is that (saies another) whip him out (saies the\nthird) hang him vp (saies the Duke.) I hauing bin acquainted\nwith the smell before, knew it was Crab; and\ngoes me to the fellow that whips the dogges: friend\n(quoth I) you meane to whip the dog: I marry doe I\n(quoth he) you doe him the more wrong (quoth I) 'twas\nI did the thing you wot of: he makes me no more adoe,\nbut whips me out of the chamber: how many Masters\nwould doe this for his Seruant? nay, ile be sworne I haue\nsat in the stockes, for puddings he hath stolne, otherwise\nhe had bin executed: I haue stood on the Pillorie for\nGeese he hath kil'd, otherwise he had sufferd for't: thou\nthink'st not of this now: nay, I remember the tricke you\nseru'd me, when I tooke my leaue of Madam Siluia: did\nnot I bid thee still marke me, and doe as I do; when did'st\nthou see me heaue vp my leg, and make water against a\nGentlewomans farthingale? did'st thou euer see me doe\nsuch a tricke?\nPro. Sebastian is thy name: I like thee well,\nAnd will imploy thee in some seruice presently\nIu. In what you please, ile doe what I can\nPro. I hope thou wilt.\nHow now you whorson pezant,\nWhere haue you bin these two dayes loytering?\nLa. Marry Sir, I carried Mistris Siluia the dogge you\nbad me\nPro. And what saies she to my little Iewell?\nLa. Marry she saies your dog was a cur, and tels you\ncurrish thanks is good enough for such a present\nPro. But she receiu'd my dog?\nLa. No indeede did she not:\nHere haue I brought him backe againe\nPro. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\nLa. I Sir, the other Squirrill was stolne from me\nBy the Hangmans boyes in the market place,\nAnd then I offer'd her mine owne, who is a dog\nAs big as ten of yours, & therefore the guift the greater\nPro. Goe, get thee hence, and finde my dog againe,\nOr nere returne againe into my sight.\nAway, I say: stayest thou to vexe me here;\nA Slaue, that still an end, turnes me to shame:\nSebastian, I haue entertained thee,\nPartly that I haue neede of such a youth,\nThat can with some discretion doe my businesse:\nFor 'tis no trusting to yond foolish Lowt;\nBut chiefely, for thy face, and thy behauiour,\nWhich (if my Augury deceiue me not)\nWitnesse good bringing vp, fortune, and truth:\nTherefore know thee, for this I entertaine thee.\nGo presently, and take this Ring with thee,\nDeliuer it to Madam Siluia;\nShe lou'd me well, deliuer'd it to me\nIul. It seemes you lou'd not her, not leaue her token:\nShe is dead belike?\nPro. Not so: I thinke she liues\nIul. Alas\nPro. Why do'st thou cry alas?\nIul. I cannot choose but pitty her\nPro. Wherefore should'st thou pitty her?\nIul. Because, me thinkes that she lou'd you as well\nAs you doe loue your Lady Siluia:\nShe dreames on him, that has forgot her loue,\nYou doate on her, that cares not for your loue.\n'Tis pitty Loue, should be so contrary:\nAnd thinking on it, makes me cry alas\nPro. Well: giue her that Ring, and therewithall\nThis Letter: that's her chamber: Tell my Lady,\nI claime the promise for her heauenly Picture:\nYour message done, hye home vnto my chamber,\nWhere thou shalt finde me sad, and solitarie\nIul. How many women would doe such a message?\nAlas poore Protheus, thou hast entertain'd\nA Foxe, to be the Shepheard of thy Lambs;\nAlas, poore foole, why doe I pitty him\nThat with his very heart despiseth me?\nBecause he loues her, he despiseth me,\nBecause I loue him, I must pitty him.\nThis Ring I gaue him, when he parted from me,\nTo binde him to remember my good will:\nAnd now am I (vnhappy Messenger)\nTo plead for that, which I would not obtaine;\nTo carry that, which I would haue refus'd;\nTo praise his faith, which I would haue disprais'd.\nI am my Masters true confirmed Loue,\nBut cannot be true seruant to my Master,\nVnlesse I proue false traitor to my selfe.\nYet will I woe for him, but yet so coldly,\nAs (heauen it knowes) I would not haue him speed.\nGentlewoman, good day: I pray you be my meane\nTo bring me where to speake with Madam Siluia\nSil. What would you with her, if that I be she?\nIul. If you be she, I doe intreat your patience\nTo heare me speake the message I am sent on\nSil. From whom?\nIul. From my Master, Sir Protheus, Madam\nSil. Oh: he sends you for a Picture?\nIul. I, Madam\nSil. Vrsula, bring my Picture there,\nGoe, giue your Master this: tell him from me,\nOne Iulia, that his changing thoughts forget\nWould better fit his Chamber, then this Shadow\nIul. Madam, please you peruse this Letter;\nPardon me (Madam) I haue vnaduis'd\nDeliuer'd you a paper that I should not;\nThis is the Letter to your Ladiship\nSil. I pray thee let me looke on that againe\nIul. It may not be: good Madam pardon me\nSil. There, hold:\nI will not looke vpon your Masters lines:\nI know they are stuft with protestations,\nAnd full of new-found oathes, which he will breake\nAs easily, as I doe teare his paper\nIul. Madam, he sends your Ladiship this Ring\nSil. The more shame for him, that he sends it me;\nFor I haue heard him say a thousand times,\nHis Iulia gaue it him, at his departure:\nThough his false finger haue prophan'd the Ring,\nMine shall not doe his Iulia so much wrong\nIul. She thankes you\nSil. What sai'st thou?\nIul. I thanke you Madam, that you tender her:\nPoore Gentlewoman, my Master wrongs her much\nSil. Do'st thou know her?\nIul. Almost as well as I doe know my selfe.\nTo thinke vpon her woes, I doe protest\nThat I haue wept a hundred seuerall times\nSil. Belike she thinks that Protheus hath forsook her?\nIul. I thinke she doth: and that's her cause of sorrow\nSil. Is she not passing faire?\nIul. She hath bin fairer (Madam) then she is,\nWhen she did thinke my Master lou'd her well;\nShe, in my iudgement, was as faire as you.\nBut since she did neglect her looking-glasse,\nAnd threw her Sun-expelling Masque away,\nThe ayre hath staru'd the roses in her cheekes,\nAnd pinch'd the lilly-tincture of her face,\nThat now she is become as blacke as I\nSil. How tall was she?\nIul. About my stature: for at Pentecost,\nWhen all our Pageants of delight were plaid,\nOur youth got me to play the womans part,\nAnd I was trim'd in Madam Iulias gowne,\nWhich serued me as fit, by all mens iudgements,\nAs if the garment had bin made for me:\nTherefore I know she is about my height,\nAnd at that time I made her weepe a good,\nFor I did play a lamentable part.\n(Madam) 'twas Ariadne, passioning\nFor Thesus periury, and vniust flight;\nWhich I so liuely acted with my teares:\nThat my poore Mistris moued therewithall,\nWept bitterly: and would I might be dead,\nIf I in thought felt not her very sorrow\nSil. She is beholding to thee (gentle youth)\nAlas (poore Lady) desolate, and left;\nI weepe my selfe to thinke vpon thy words:\nHere youth: there is my purse; I giue thee this\nFor thy sweet Mistris sake, because thou lou'st her. Farewell\nIul. And she shall thanke you for't, if ere you know her.\nA vertuous gentlewoman, milde, and beautifull.\nI hope my Masters suit will be but cold,\nSince she respects my Mistris loue so much.\nAlas, how loue can trifle with it selfe:\nHere is her Picture: let me see, I thinke\nIf I had such a Tyre, this face of mine\nWere full as louely, as is this of hers;\nAnd yet the Painter flatter'd her a little,\nVnlesse I flatter with my selfe too much.\nHer haire is Aburne, mine is perfect Yellow;\nIf that be all the difference in his loue,\nIle get me such a coulour'd Perrywig:\nHer eyes are grey as glasse, and so are mine.\nI, but her fore-head's low, and mine's as high:\nWhat should it be that he respects in her,\nBut I can make respectiue in my selfe?\nIf this fond Loue, were not a blinded god.\nCome shadow, come, and take this shadow vp,\nFor 'tis thy riuall: O thou sencelesse forme,\nThou shalt be worship'd, kiss'd, lou'd, and ador'd;\nAnd were there sence in his Idolatry,\nMy substance should be statue in thy stead.\nIle vse thee kindly, for thy Mistris sake\nThat vs'd me so: or else by Ioue, I vow,\nI should haue scratch'd out your vnseeing eyes,\nTo make my Master out of loue with thee.\nExeunt.\nActus Quintus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Eglamoure, Siluia.\nEgl. The Sun begins to guild the westerne skie,\nAnd now it is about the very houre\nThat Siluia, at Fryer Patricks Cell should meet me,\nShe will not faile; for Louers breake not houres,\nVnlesse it be to come before their time,\nSo much they spur their expedition.\nSee where she comes: Lady a happy euening\nSil. Amen, Amen: goe on (good Eglamoure)\nOut at the Posterne by the Abbey wall;\nI feare I am attended by some Spies\nEgl. Feare not: the Forrest is not three leagues off,\nIf we recouer that, we are sure enough.\nExeunt.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Thurio, Protheus, Iulia, Duke.\nTh. Sir Protheus, what saies Siluia to my suit?\nPro. Oh Sir, I finde her milder then she was,\nAnd yet she takes exceptions at your person\nThu. What? that my leg is too long?\nPro. No, that it is too little\nThu. Ile weare a Boote, to make it somewhat rounder\nPro. But loue will not be spurd to what it loathes\nThu. What saies she to my face?\nPro. She saies it is a faire one\nThu. Nay then the wanton lyes: my face is blacke\nPro. But Pearles are faire; and the old saying is,\nBlacke men are Pearles, in beauteous Ladies eyes\nThu. 'Tis true, such Pearles as put out Ladies eyes,\nFor I had rather winke, then looke on them\nThu. How likes she my discourse?\nPro. Ill, when you talke of war\nThu. But well, when I discourse of loue and peace\nIul. But better indeede, when you hold you peace\nThu. What sayes she to my valour?\nPro. Oh Sir, she makes no doubt of that\nIul. She needes not, when she knowes it cowardize\nThu. What saies she to my birth?\nPro. That you are well deriu'd\nIul. True: from a Gentleman, to a foole\nThu. Considers she my Possessions?\nPro. Oh, I: and pitties them\nThu. Wherefore?\nIul. That such an Asse should owe them\nPro. That they are out by Lease\nIul. Here comes the Duke\nDu. How now sir Protheus; how now Thurio?\nWhich of you saw Eglamoure of late?\nThu. Not I\nPro. Nor I\nDu. Saw you my daughter?\nPro. Neither\nDu. Why then\nShe's fled vnto that pezant, Valentine;\nAnd Eglamoure is in her Company:\n'Tis true: for Frier Laurence met them both\nAs he, in pennance wander'd through the Forrest:\nHim he knew well: and guesd that it was she,\nBut being mask'd, he was not sure of it.\nBesides she did intend Confession\nAt Patricks Cell this euen, and there she was not.\nThese likelihoods confirme her flight from hence;\nTherefore I pray you stand, not to discourse,\nBut mount you presently, and meete with me\nVpon the rising of the Mountaine foote\nThat leads toward Mantua, whether they are fled:\nDispatch (sweet Gentlemen) and follow me\nThu. Why this it is, to be a peeuish Girle,\nThat flies her fortune when it followes her:\nIle after; more to be reueng'd on Eglamoure,\nThen for the loue of reck-lesse Siluia\nPro. And I will follow, more for Siluias loue\nThen hate of Eglamoure that goes with her\nIul. And I will follow, more to crosse that loue\nThen hate for Siluia, that is gone for loue.\nExeunt.\nScena Tertia.\nSiluia, Outlawes.\n1.Out. Come, come be patient:\nWe must bring you to our Captaine\nSil. A thousand more mischances then this one\nHaue learn'd me how to brooke this patiently\n2 Out. Come, bring her away\n1 Out. Where is the Gentleman that was with her?\n3 Out. Being nimble footed, he hath out-run vs.\nBut Moyses and Valerius follow him:\nGoe thou with her to the West end of the wood,\nThere is our Captaine: Wee'll follow him that's fled,\nThe Thicket is beset, he cannot scape\n1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our Captains caue.\nFeare not: he beares an honourable minde,\nAnd will not vse a woman lawlesly\nSil. O Valentine: this I endure for thee.\nExeunt.\nScoena Quarta.\nEnter Valentine, Protheus, Siluia, Iulia, Duke, Thurio, Outlawes.\nVal. How vse doth breed a habit in a man?\nThis shadowy desart, vnfrequented woods\nI better brooke then flourishing peopled Townes:\nHere can I sit alone, vn-seene of any,\nAnd to the Nightingales complaining Notes\nTune my distresses, and record my woes.\nO thou that dost inhabit in my brest,\nLeaue not the Mansion so long Tenant-lesse,\nLest growing ruinous, the building fall,\nAnd leaue no memory of what it was,\nRepaire me, with thy presence, Siluia:\nThou gentle Nimph, cherish thy forlorne swaine.\nWhat hallowing, and what stir is this to day?\nThese are my mates, that make their wills their Law,\nHaue some vnhappy passenger in chace;\nThey loue me well: yet I haue much to doe\nTo keepe them from vnciuill outrages.\nWithdraw thee Valentine: who's this comes heere?\nPro. Madam, this seruice I haue done for you\n(Though you respect not aught your seruant doth)\nTo hazard life, and reskew you from him,\nThat would haue forc'd your honour, and your loue,\nVouchsafe me for my meed, but one faire looke:\n(A smaller boone then this I cannot beg,\nAnd lesse then this, I am sure you cannot giue.)\nVal. How like a dreame is this? I see, and heare:\nLoue, lend me patience to forbeare a while\nSil. O miserable, vnhappy that I am\nPro. Vnhappy were you (Madam) ere I came:\nBut by my comming, I haue made you happy\nSil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most vnhappy\nIul. And me, when he approcheth to your presence\nSil. Had I beene ceazed by a hungry Lion,\nI would haue beene a breakfast to the Beast,\nRather then haue false Protheus reskue me:\nOh heauen be iudge how I loue Valentine,\nWhose life's as tender to me as my soule,\nAnd full as much (for more there cannot be)\nI doe detest false periur'd Protheus:\nTherefore be gone, sollicit me no more\nPro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death\nWould I not vndergoe, for one calme looke:\nOh 'tis the curse in Loue, and still approu'd\nWhen women cannot loue, where they're belou'd\nSil. When Protheus cannot loue, where he's belou'd:\nRead ouer Iulia's heart, (thy first best Loue)\nFor whose deare sake, thou didst then rend thy faith\nInto a thousand oathes; and all those oathes,\nDescended into periury, to loue me,\nThou hast no faith left now, vnlesse thou'dst two,\nAnd that's farre worse then none: better haue none\nThen plurall faith, which is too much by one:\nThou Counterfeyt, to thy true friend\nPro. In Loue,\nWho respects friend?\nSil. All men but Protheus\nPro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of mouing words\nCan no way change you to a milder forme;\nIle wooe you like a Souldier, at armes end,\nAnd loue you 'gainst the nature of Loue: force ye\nSil. Oh heauen\nPro. Ile force thee yeeld to my desire\nVal. Ruffian: let goe that rude vnciuill touch,\nThou friend of an ill fashion\nPro. Valentine\nVal. Thou co[m]mon friend, that's without faith or loue,\nFor such is a friend now: treacherous man,\nThou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye\nCould haue perswaded me: now I dare not say\nI haue one friend aliue; thou wouldst disproue me:\nWho should be trusted, when ones right hand\nIs periured to the bosome? Protheus\nI am sorry I must neuer trust thee more,\nBut count the world a stranger for thy sake:\nThe priuate wound is deepest: oh time, most accurst.\n'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst?\nPro. My shame and guilt confounds me:\nForgiue me Valentine: if hearty sorrow\nBe a sufficient Ransome for offence,\nI tender't heere: I doe as truely suffer,\nAs ere I did commit\nVal. Then I am paid:\nAnd once againe, I doe receiue thee honest;\nWho by Repentance is not satisfied,\nIs nor of heauen, nor earth; for these are pleas'd:\nBy Penitence th' Eternalls wrath's appeas'd:\nAnd that my loue may appeare plaine and free,\nAll that was mine, in Siluia, I giue thee\nIul. Oh me vnhappy\nPro. Looke to the Boy\nVal. Why, Boy?\nWhy wag: how now? what's the matter? look vp: speak\nIul. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliuer a ring\nto Madam Siluia: w (out of my neglect) was neuer done\nPro. Where is that ring? boy?\nIul. Heere 'tis: this is it\nPro. How? let me see.\nWhy this is the ring I gaue to Iulia\nIul. Oh, cry you mercy sir, I haue mistooke:\nThis is the ring you sent to Siluia\nPro. But how cam'st thou by this ring? at my depart\nI gaue this vnto Iulia\nIul. And Iulia her selfe did giue it me,\nAnd Iulia her selfe hath brought it hither\nPro. How? Iulia?\nIul. Behold her, that gaue ayme to all thy oathes,\nAnd entertain'd 'em deepely in her heart.\nHow oft hast thou with periury cleft the roote?\nOh Protheus, let this habit make thee blush.\nBe thou asham'd that I haue tooke vpon me,\nSuch an immodest rayment; if shame liue\nIn a disguise of loue?\nIt is the lesser blot modesty findes,\nWomen to change their shapes, then men their minds\nPro. Then men their minds? tis true: oh heuen, were man\nBut Constant, he were perfect; that one error\nFils him with faults: makes him run through all th' sins;\nInconstancy falls-off, ere it begins:\nWhat is in Siluia's face, but I may spie\nMore fresh in Iulia's, with a constant eye?\nVal. Come, come: a hand from either:\nLet me be blest to make this happy close:\n'Twere pitty two such friends should be long foes\nPro. Beare witnes (heauen) I haue my wish for euer\nIul. And I mine\nOutl. A prize: a prize: a prize\nVal. Forbeare, forbeare I say: It is my Lord the Duke.\nYour Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,\nBanished Valentine\nDuke. Sir Valentine?\nThu. Yonder is Siluia: and Siluia's mine\nVal. Thurio giue backe; or else embrace thy death:\nCome not within the measure of my wrath:\nDoe not name Siluia thine: if once againe,\nVerona shall not hold thee: heere she stands,\nTake but possession of her, with a Touch:\nI dare thee, but to breath vpon my Loue\nThur. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I:\nI hold him but a foole that will endanger\nHis Body, for a Girle that loues him not:\nI claime her not, and therefore she is thine\nDuke. The more degenerate and base art thou\nTo make such meanes for her, as thou hast done,\nAnd leaue her on such slight conditions.\nNow, by the honor of my Ancestry,\nI doe applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\nAnd thinke thee worthy of an Empresse loue:\nKnow then, I heere forget all former greefes,\nCancell all grudge, repeale thee home againe,\nPlead a new state in thy vn-riual'd merit,\nTo which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\nThou art a Gentleman, and well deriu'd,\nTake thou thy Siluia, for thou hast deseru'd her\nVal. I thank your Grace, y gift hath made me happy:\nI now beseech you (for your daughters sake)\nTo grant one Boone that I shall aske of you\nDuke. I grant it (for thine owne) what ere it be\nVal. These banish'd men, that I haue kept withall,\nAre men endu'd with worthy qualities:\nForgiue them what they haue committed here,\nAnd let them be recall'd from their Exile:\nThey are reformed, ciuill, full of good,\nAnd fit for great employment (worthy Lord.)\nDuke. Thou hast preuaild, I pardon them and thee:\nDispose of them, as thou knowst their deserts.\nCome, let vs goe, we will include all iarres,\nWith Triumphes, Mirth, and rare solemnity\nVal. And as we walke along, I dare be bold\nWith our discourse, to make your Grace to smile.\nWhat thinke you of this Page (my Lord?)\nDuke. I think the Boy hath grace in him, he blushes\nVal. I warrant you (my Lord) more grace, then Boy\nDuke. What meane you by that saying?\nVal. Please you, Ile tell you, as we passe along,\nThat you will wonder what hath fortuned:\nCome Protheus, 'tis your pennance, but to heare\nThe story of your Loues discouered.\nThat done, our day of marriage shall be yours,\nOne Feast, one house, one mutuall happinesse.\nExeunt.\nThe names of all the Actors.\nDuke: Father to Siluia.\nValentine.\nProtheus. the two Gentlemen.\nAnthonio: father to Protheus.\nThurio: a foolish riuall to Valentine.\nEglamoure: Agent for Siluia in her escape.\nHost: where Iulia lodges.\nOutlawes with Valentine.\nSpeed: a clownish seruant to Valentine.\nLaunce: the like to Protheus.\nPanthion: seruant to Antonio.\nIulia: beloued of Protheus.\nSiluia: beloued of Valentine.\nLucetta: waighting-woman to Iulia.\nFINIS. THE Two Gentlemen of Verona.","title":"The Two Gentlemen of Verona","type":"page"}