The Two Gentlemen of Verona

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Original text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Valentine, Speed, Siluia.

Speed.
Sir, your Gloue.

Valen.
Not mine: my Gloues are on.

Sp.
Why then this may be yours: for this is but one.

Val.
Ha? Let me see: I, giue it me, it's mine:
Sweet Ornament, that deckes a thing diuine,
Ah Siluia, Siluia.

Speed.
Madam Siluia: Madam Siluia.

Val.
How now Sirha?

Speed.
Shee is not within hearing Sir.

Val.
Why sir, who bad you call her?

Speed.
Your worship sir, or else I mistooke.

Val.
Well: you'll still be too forward.

Speed.
And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

Val.
Goe to, sir, tell me: do you know Madam
Siluia?

Speed.
Shee that your worship loues?

Val.
Why, how know you that I am in loue?

Speed.
Marry by these speciall markes: first, you haue
learn'd (like Sir Protheus) to wreath your Armes like a
Male-content: to rellish a Loue-song, like a Robin-red-breast:
to walke alone like one that had the pestilence: to sigh,
like a Schoole-boy that had lost his A.B.C. to weep like a
yong wench that had buried her Grandam: to fast, like
one that takes diet: to watch, like one that feares robbing:
to speake puling, like a beggar at Hallow-Masse: You were
wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cocke; when you
walk'd, to walke like one of the Lions: when you fasted,
it was presently after dinner: when you look'd sadly, it
was for want of money: And now you are Metamorphis'd
with a Mistris, that when I looke on you, I can
hardly thinke you my Master.

Val.
Are all these things perceiu'd in me?

Speed.
They are all perceiu'd without ye.

Val.
Without me? they cannot.

Speed.
Without you? nay, that's certaine: for without / you
were so simple, none else would: but you are so without
these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine
through you like the water in an Vrinall: that not an eye
that sees you, but is a Physician to comment on your
Malady.

Val.
But tell me: do'st thou know my Lady Siluia?

Speed.
Shee that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?

Val.
Hast thou obseru'd that? euen she I meane.

Speed.
Why sir, I know her not.

Val.
Do'st thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet know'st her not?

Speed.
Is she not hard-fauour'd, sir?

Val.
Not so faire (boy) as well fauour'd.

Speed.
Sir, I know that well enough.

Val.
What dost thou know?

Speed.
That shee is not so faire, as (of you) well-fauourd?

Val.
I meane that her beauty is exquisite, / But her
fauour infinite.

Speed.
That's because the one is painted, and the other
out of all count.

Val.
How painted? and how out of count?

Speed.
Marry sir, so painted to make her faire, that no
man counts of her beauty.

Val.
How esteem'st thou me? I account of her
beauty.

Speed.
You neuer saw her since she was deform'd.

Val.
How long hath she beene deform'd?

Speed.
Euer since you lou'd her.

Val.
I haue lou'd her euer since I saw her, / And
still I see her beautifull.

Speed.
If you loue her, you cannot see her.

Val.
Why?

Speed.
Because Loue is blinde: O that you had mine eyes,
or your owne eyes had the lights they were wont to haue,
when you chidde at Sir Protheus, for going vngarter'd.

Val.
What should I see then?

Speed.
Your owne present folly, and her passing deformitie:
for hee beeing in loue, could not see to garter his hose;
and you, beeing in loue, cannot see to put on your hose.

Val.
Belike (boy) then you are in loue, for last
morning / You could not see to wipe my shooes.

Speed.
True sir: I was in loue with my bed, I thanke you,
you swing'd me for my loue, which makes mee the bolder
to chide you, for yours.

Val.
In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

Speed.
I would you were set, so your affection would
cease.

Val.
Last night she enioyn'd me, / To write some
lines to one she loues.

Speed.
And haue you?

Val.
I haue.

Speed.
Are they not lamely writt?

Val.
No (Boy) but as well as I can do them: Peace,
here she comes.


Speed.
Oh excellent motion; oh exceeding Puppet:
Now will he interpret to her.

Val.
Madam & Mistres, a thousand good-
morrows.

Speed.
Oh, 'giue ye-good-ev'n: heer's a million of
manners.

Sil.
Sir Valentine, and seruant, to you two thousand.

Speed.
He should giue her interest: & she giues it
him.

Val.
As you inioynd me; I haue writ your Letter
Vnto the secret, nameles friend of yours:
Which I was much vnwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your Ladiship.


Sil.
I thanke you (gentle Seruant) 'tis very Clerkly done.

Val.
Now trust me (Madam) it came hardly-off:
For being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at randome, very doubtfully.

Sil.
Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

Val.
No (Madam) so it steed you, I will write
(Please you command) a thousand times as much:
And yet ---

Sil.
A pretty period: well: I ghesse the sequell;
And yet I will not name it: and yet I care not.
And yet, take this againe:
and yet I thanke you:
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

Speed.
And yet you will: and yet, another yet.

Val.
What meanes your Ladiship? Doe you not like it?

Sil.
Yes, yes: the lines are very queintly writ,
But (since vnwillingly) take them againe.
Nay, take them.

Val.
Madam, they are for you.

Silu.
I, I: you writ them Sir, at my request,
But I will none of them: they are for you:
I would haue had them writ more mouingly:

Val.
Please you, Ile write your Ladiship another.

Sil.
And when it's writ: for my sake read it ouer,
And if it please you, so: if not: why so:

Val.
If it please me, (Madam?) what then?

Sil.
Why if it please you, take it for your labour;
And so good-morrow Seruant.
Exit. Sil.

Speed.
Oh Iest vnseene: inscrutible: inuisible,
As a nose on a mans face, or a Wethercocke on a steeple:
My Master sues to her: and she hath taught her Sutor,
He being her Pupill, to become her Tutor.
Oh excellent deuise, was there euer heard a better?
That my master being scribe, / To himselfe should write the Letter?

Val.
How now Sir? What are you reasoning with
your selfe?

Speed.
Nay: I was riming: 'tis you yt haue the reason.

Val.
To doe what?

Speed.
To be a Spokes-man from Madam Siluia.

Val.
To whom?

Speed.
To your selfe: why, she woes you by a figure.

Val.
What figure?

Speed.
By a Letter, I should say.

Val.
Why she hath not writ to me?

Speed.
What need she, / When shee hath made you write to
your selfe? Why, doe you not perceiue the iest?

Val.
No, beleeue me.

Speed.
No beleeuing you indeed sir: But did you perceiue
her earnest?

Val.
She gaue me none, except an angry word.

Speed.
Why she hath giuen you a Letter.

Val.
That's the Letter I writ to her friend.

Speed.
And y letter hath she deliuer'd, & there an
end.

Val.
I would it were no worse.

Speed.
Ile warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often haue you writ to her: and she in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not againe reply,
Or fearing els some messẽger, yt might her mind discouer
Her self hath taught her Loue himself, to write vnto her louer.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. / Why
muse you sir, 'tis dinner time.

Val.
I haue dyn'd.

Speed.
I, but hearken sir: though the Cameleon Loue
can feed on the ayre, I am one that am nourish'd by my
victuals; and would faine haue meate: oh bee not like your
Mistresse, be moued, be moued.
Exeunt
Original text
Act II, Scene II
Enter Protheus, Iulia, Panthion.

Pro.
Haue patience, gentle Iulia:

Iul.
I must where is no remedy.

Pro.
When possibly I can, I will returne.

Iul.
If you turne not: you will return the sooner:
Keepe this remembrance for thy Iulia's sake.

Pro.
Why then wee'll make exchange; / Here, take you this.

Iul.
And seale the bargaine with a holy kisse.

Pro.
Here is my hand, for my true constancie:
And when that howre ore-slips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not (Iulia) for thy sake,
The next ensuing howre, some foule mischance
Torment me for my Loues forgetfulnesse:
My father staies my comming: answere not:
The tide is now; nay, not thy tide of teares,
That tide will stay me longer then I should,
Iulia, farewell: what, gon without a word?
I, so true loue should doe: it cannot speake,
For truth hath better deeds, then words to grace it.

Panth.
Sir Protheus: you are staid for.

Pro.
Goe: I come, I come:
Alas, this parting strikes poore Louers dumbe.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Launce, Panthion.

Launce.
Nay, 'twill bee this howre ere I haue done weeping:
all the kinde of the Launces, haue this very fault: I haue
receiu'd my proportion, like the prodigious Sonne, and am
going with Sir Protheus to the Imperialls Court: I thinke
Crab my dog, be the sowrest natured dogge that liues: My
Mother weeping: my Father wayling: my Sister crying:
our Maid howling: our Catte wringing her hands, and all
our house in a great perplexitie, yet did not this cruell-hearted
Curre shedde one teare: he is a stone, a very pibble stone,
and has no more pitty in him then a dogge: a Iew
would haue wept to haue seene our parting: why my
Grandam hauing no eyes, looke you, wept her selfe blinde
at my parting: nay, Ile shew you the manner of it.
This shooe is my father: no, this left shooe is my father;
no, no, this left shooe is my mother: nay, that cannot bee
so neyther: yes; it is so, it is so: it hath the worser sole:
this shooe with the hole in it, is my mother: and this my
father: a veng'ance on't, there 'tis: Now sir, this staffe
is my sister: for, looke you, she is as white as a lilly, and
as small as a wand: this hat is Nan our maid: I am the
dogge: no, the dogge is himselfe, and I am the dogge: oh, the
dogge is me, and I am my selfe: I; so, so: now come I to
my Father; Father, your blessing: now should not the
shooe speake a word for weeping: now should I kisse my
Father; well, hee weepes on: Now come I to my Mother:
Oh that she could speake now, like a would-woman: well,
I kisse her: why there 'tis; heere's my mothers breath vp
and downe: Now come I to my sister; marke the moane she
makes: now the dogge all this while sheds not a teare: nor
speakes a word: but see how I lay the dust with my teares.

Panth.
Launce, away, away: a Boord: thy Master is
ship'd, and thou art to post after with oares; what's the
matter? why weep'st thou man? away asse, you'l loose
the Tide, if you tarry any longer.

Laun.
It is no matter if the tide were lost, for it is the
vnkindest Tide, that euer any man tide.

Panth.
What's the vnkindest tide?

Lau.
Why, he that's tide here, Crab my dog.

Pant.
Tut, man: I meane thou'lt loose the flood, and
in loosing the flood, loose thy voyage, and in loosing thy
voyage, loose thy Master, and in loosing thy Master, loose
thy seruice, and in loosing thy seruice: --- why dost thou
stop my mouth?

Laun.
For feare thou shouldst loose thy tongue.

Panth.
Where should I loose my tongue?

Laun.
In thy Tale.

Panth.
In thy Taile.

Laun.
Loose the Tide, and the voyage, and the Master,
and the Seruice, and the tide: why man, if the Riuer
were drie, I am able to fill it with my teares: if the winde
were downe, I could driue the boate with my sighes.

Panth.
Come: come away man, I was sent to call
thee.

Lau.
Sir: call me what thou dar'st.

Pant.
Wilt thou goe?

Laun.
Well, I will goe.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene IV
Enter Valentine, Siluia, Thurio, Speed, Duke, Protheus.

Sil.
Seruant.

Val.
Mistris.

Spee.
Master, Sir Thurio frownes on you.

Val.
I Boy, it's for loue.

Spee.
Not of you.

Val.
Of my Mistresse then.

Spee.

'Twere good you knockt him.

Sil.
Seruant, you are sad.

Val.
Indeed, Madam, I seeme so.

Thu.
Seeme you that you are not?

Val.
Hap'ly I doe.

Thu.
So doe Counterfeyts.

Val.
So doe you.

Thu.
What seeme I that I am not?

Val.
Wise.

Thu.
What instance of the contrary?

Val.
Your folly.

Thu.
And how quoat you my folly?

Val.
I quoat it in your Ierkin.

Thu.
My Ierkin is a doublet.

Val.
Well then, Ile double your folly.

Thu.
How?

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

Val.
Giue him leaue, Madam, he is a kind of
Camelion.

Thu.
That hath more minde to feed on your bloud, then
liue in your ayre.

Val.
You haue said Sir.

Thu.
I Sir, and done too for this time.

Val.
I know it wel sir, you alwaies end ere you
begin.

Sil.
A fine volly of words, gentlemẽ,& quickly
shot off

Val.
'Tis indeed, Madam, we thank the giuer.

Sil.
Who is that Seruant?

Val.
Your selfe (sweet Lady) for you gaue the fire,
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladiships lookes,
And spends what he borrowes kindly in your company.

Thu.
Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall
make your wit bankrupt.

Val.
I know it well sir: you haue an Exchequer of
words, / And I thinke, no other treasure to giue your followers:
For it appeares by their bare Liueries / That they liue
by your bare words.

Sil.
No more, gentlemen, no more: Here comes my
father.

Duk.
Now, daughter Siluia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father is in good health,
What say you to a Letter from your friends
Of much good newes?

Val.
My Lord, I will be thankfull,
To any happy messenger from thence.

Duk.
Know ye Don Antonio, your Countriman?

Val.
I, my good Lord, I know the Gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation,
And not without desert so well reputed.

Duk.
Hath he not a Sonne?

Val.
I, my good Lord, a Son, that well deserues
The honor, and regard of such a father.

Duk.
You know him well?

Val.
I knew him as my selfe: for from our Infancie
We haue conuerst, and spent our howres together,
And though my selfe haue beene an idle Trewant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To cloath mine age with Angel-like perfection:
Yet hath Sir Protheus (for that's his name)
Made vse, and faire aduantage of his daies:
His yeares but yong, but his experience old:
His head vn-mellowed, but his Iudgement ripe;
And in a word (for far behinde his worth
Comes all the praises that I now bestow.)
He is compleat in feature, and in minde,
With all good grace, to grace a Gentleman.

Duk.
Beshrew me sir, but if he make this good
He is as worthy for an Empresse loue,
As meet to be an Emperors Councellor:
Well, Sir: this Gentleman is come to me
With Commendation from great Potentates,
And heere he meanes to spend his time a while,
I thinke 'tis no vn-welcome newes to you.

Val.
Should I haue wish'd a thing, it had beene he.

Duk.
Welcome him then according to his worth:
Siluia, I speake to you, and you Sir Thurio,
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it,
I will send him hither to you presently.

Val.
This is the Gentleman I told your Ladiship
Had come along with me, but that his Mistresse
Did hold his eyes, lockt in her Christall lookes.

Sil.
Be-like that now she hath enfranchis'd them
Vpon some other pawne for fealty.

Val.
Nay sure, I thinke she holds them prisoners stil.

Sil.
Nay then he should be blind, and being blind
How could he see his way to seeke out you?

Val.
Why Lady, Loue hath twenty paire of eyes.

Thur.
They say that Loue hath not an eye at all.

Val.
To see such Louers, Thurio, as your selfe,
Vpon a homely obiect, Loue can winke.

Sil.
Haue done, haue done: here comes ye gentleman.

Val.
Welcome, deer Protheus: Mistris, I beseech you
Confirme his welcome, with some speciall fauor.

Sil.
His worth is warrant for his welcome hether,
If this be he you oft haue wish'd to heare from.

Val.
Mistris, it is: sweet Lady, entertaine him
To be my fellow-seruant to your Ladiship.

Sil.
Too low a Mistres for so high a seruant.

Pro.
Not so, sweet Lady, but too meane a seruant
To haue a looke of such a worthy a Mistresse.

Val.
Leaue off discourse of disabilitie:
Sweet Lady, entertaine him for your Seruant.

Pro.
My dutie will I boast of, nothing else.

Sil.
And dutie neuer yet did want his meed.
Seruant, you are welcome to a worthlesse Mistresse.

Pro.
Ile die on him that saies so but your selfe.

Sil.
That you are welcome?

Pro.
That you are worthlesse.

Thur.
Madam, my Lord your father wold speak with you.

Sil.
I wait vpon his pleasure: Come Sir Thurio,
Goe with me: once more, new Seruant welcome;
Ile leaue you to confer of home affaires,
When you haue done, we looke too heare from you.

Pro.
Wee'll both attend vpon your Ladiship.

Val.
Now tell me: how do al from whence you came?

Pro.
Your frends are wel, & haue thẽ much cõmended.

Val.
And how doe yours?

Pro.
I left them all in health.

Val.
How does your Lady? & how thriues your loue?

Pro.
My tales of Loue were wont to weary you,
I know you ioy not in a Loue-discourse.

Val.
I Protheus, but that life is alter'd now,
I haue done pennance for contemning Loue,
Whose high emperious thoughts haue punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitentiall grones,
With nightly teares, and daily hart-sore sighes,
For in reuenge of my contempt of loue,
Loue hath chas'd sleepe from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine owne hearts sorrow.
O gentle Protheus, Loue's a mighty Lord,
And hath so humbled me, as I confesse
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his Seruice, no such ioy on earth:
Now, no discourse, except it be of loue:
Now can I breake my fast, dine, sup, and sleepe,
Vpon the very naked name of Loue.

Pro.
Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:
Was this the Idoll, that you worship so?

Val.
Euen She; and is she not a heauenly Saint?

Pro.
No; But she is an earthly Paragon.

Val.
Call her diuine.

Pro.
I will not flatter her.

Val.
O flatter me: for Loue delights in praises.

Pro.
When I was sick, you gaue me bitter pils,
And I must minister the like to you.

Val.
Then speake the truth by her; if not diuine,
Yet let her be a principalitie,
Soueraigne to all the Creatures on the earth.

Pro.
Except my Mistresse.

Val.
Sweet: except not any,
Except thou wilt except against my Loue.

Pro.
Haue I not reason to prefer mine owne?

Val.
And I will help thee to prefer her to:
Shee shall be dignified with this high honour,
To beare my Ladies traine, lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steale a kisse,
And of so great a fauor growing proud,
Disdaine to roote the Sommer-swelling flowre,
And make rough winter euerlastingly.

Pro.
Why Valentine, what Bragadisme is this?

Val.
Pardon me (Protheus) all I can is nothing,
To her, whose worth, make other worthies nothing;
Shee is alone.

Pro.
Then let her alone.

Val.
Not for the world: why man, she is mine owne,
And I as rich in hauing such a Iewell
As twenty Seas, if all their sand were pearle,
The water, Nectar, and the Rocks pure gold.
Forgiue me, that I doe not dreame on thee,
Because thou seest me doate vpon my loue:
My foolish Riuall that her Father likes
(Onely for his possessions are so huge)
Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For Loue (thou know'st is full of iealousie.)

Pro.
But she loues you?

Val.
I, and we are betroathd: nay more, our mariage howre,
With all the cunning manner of our flight
Determin'd of: how I must climbe her window,
The Ladder made of Cords, and all the means
Plotted, and 'greed on for my happinesse.
Good Protheus goe with me to my chamber,
In these affaires to aid me with thy counsaile.

Pro.
Goe on before: I shall enquire you forth:
I must vnto the Road, to disembarque
Some necessaries, that I needs must vse,
And then Ile presently attend you.

Val
Will you make haste?

Pro.
I will.
Exit.
Euen as one heate, another heate expels,
Or as one naile, by strength driues out another.
So the remembrance of my former Loue
Is by a newer obiect quite forgotten,
It is mine, or Valentines praise?
Her true perfection, or my false transgression?
That makes me reasonlesse, to reason thus?
Shee is faire: and so is Iulia that I loue,
(That I did loue, for now my loue is thaw'd,
Which like a waxen Image 'gainst a fire
Beares no impression of the thing it was.)
Me thinkes my zeale to Valentine is cold,
And that I loue him not as I was wont:
O, but I loue his Lady too-too much,
And that's the reason I loue him so little.
How shall I doate on her with more aduice,
That thus without aduice begin to loue her?
'Tis but her picture I haue yet beheld,
And that hath dazel'd my reasons light:
But when I looke on her perfections,
There is no reason, but I shall be blinde.
If I can checke my erring loue, I will,
If not, to compasse her Ile vse my skill.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene V
Enter Speed and Launce.

Speed.
Launce, by mine honesty welcome to Padua.

Laun.
Forsweare not thy selfe, sweet youth, for I am not
welcome. I reckon this alwaies, that a man is neuer vndon
till hee be hang'd, nor neuer welcome to a place, till
some certaine shot be paid, and the Hostesse say
welcome.

Speed.
Come-on you mad-cap: Ile to the Ale-house with
you presently; where, for one shot of fiue pence, thou
shalt haue fiue thousand welcomes: But sirha, how did
thy Master part with Madam Iulia?

Lau.
Marry after they cloas'd in earnest, they parted
very fairely in iest.

Spee.
But shall she marry him?

Lau.
No.

Spee.
How then? shall he marry her?

Lau.
No, neither.

Spee.
What, are they broken?

Lau.
No; they are both as whole as a fish.

Spee.
Why then, how stands the matter with them?

Lau.
Marry thus, when it stands well with him, it
stands well with her.

Spee.
What an asse art thou, I vnderstand thee not.

Lau.
What a blocke art thou, that thou canst not? My
staffe vnderstands me?

Spee.
What thou saist?

Lau.
I, and what I do too: looke thee, Ile but leane,
and my staffe vnderstands me.

Spee.
It stands vnder thee indeed.

Lau.
Why, stand-vnder: and vnder-stand is all one.

Spee.
But tell me true, wil't be a match?

Lau.
Aske my dogge, if he say I, it will: if hee say no, it
will: if hee shake his taile, and say nothing, it will.

Spee.
The conclusion is then, that it will.

Lau.
Thou shalt neuer get such a secret from me, but
by a parable.

Spee.
'Tis well that I get it so: but Launce, how saist
thou that that my master is become a notable Louer?

Lau.
I neuer knew him otherwise.

Spee.
Then how?

Lau.
A notable Lubber: as thou reportest him to bee.

Spee.
Why, thou whorson Asse, thou mistak'st me,

Lau.
Why Foole, I meant not thee, I meant thy
Master.

Spee.
I tell thee, my Master is become a hot Louer.

Lau.
Why, I tell thee, I care not, though hee burne himselfe
in Loue. If thou wilt goe with me to the Ale-house: if
not, thou art an Hebrew, a Iew, and not worth the name
of a Christian.

Spee.
Why?

Lau.
Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as
to goe to the Ale with a Christian: Wilt thou goe?

Spee.
At thy seruice.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene VI
Enter Protheus solus.

Pro.
To leaue my Iulia; shall I be forsworne?
To loue faire Siluia; shall I be forsworne?
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworne.
And ev'n that Powre which gaue me first my oath
Prouokes me to this three-fold periurie.
Loue bad mee sweare, and Loue bids me for-sweare;
O sweet-suggesting Loue, if thou hast sin'd,
Teach me (thy tempted subiect) to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling Starre,
But now I worship a celestiall Sunne:
Vn-heedfull vowes may heedfully be broken,
And he wants wit, that wants resolued will,
To learne his wit, t' exchange the bad for better;
Fie, fie, vnreuerend tongue, to call her bad,
Whose soueraignty so oft thou hast preferd,
With twenty thousand soule-confirming oathes.
I cannot leaue to loue; and yet I doe:
But there I leaue to loue, where I should loue.
Iulia I loose, and Valentine I loose,
If I keepe them, I needs must loose my selfe:
If I loose them, thus finde I by their losse,
For Valentine, my selfe: for Iulia, Siluia.
I to my selfe am deerer then a friend,
For Loue is still most precious in it selfe,
And Siluia (witnesse heauen that made her faire)
Shewes Iulia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Iulia is aliue,
Remembring that my Loue to her is dead.
And Valentine Ile hold an Enemie,
Ayming at Siluia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now proue constant to my selfe,
Without some treachery vs'd to Valentine.
This night he meaneth with a Corded-ladder
To climbe celestiall Siluia's chamber window,
My selfe in counsaile his competitor.
Now presently Ile giue her father notice
Of their disguising and pretended flight:
Who (all inrag'd) will banish Valentine:
For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter,
But Valentine being gon, Ile quickely crosse
By some slie tricke, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Loue lend me wings, to make my purpose swift
As thou hast lent me wit, to plot this drift.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene VII
Enter Iulia and Lucetta.

Iul.
Counsaile, Lucetta, gentle girle assist me,
And eu'n in kinde loue, I doe coniure thee,
Who art the Table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly Character'd, and engrau'd,
To lesson me, and tell me some good meane
How with my honour I may vndertake
A iourney to my louing Protheus.

Luc.
Alas, the way is wearisome and long.

Iul.
A true-deuoted Pilgrime is not weary
To measure Kingdomes with his feeble steps,
Much lesse shall she that hath Loues wings to flie,
And when the flight is made to one so deere,
Of such diuine perfection as Sir Protheus.

Luc.
Better forbeare, till Protheus make returne.

Iul.
Oh, know'st yu not, his looks are my soules food?
Pitty the dearth that I haue pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of Loue,
Thou wouldst as soone goe kindle fire with snow
As seeke to quench the fire of Loue with words.

Luc.
I doe not seeke to quench your Loues hot fire,
But qualifie the fires extreame rage,
Lest it should burne aboue the bounds of reason.

Iul.
The more thou dam'st it vp, the more it burnes:
The Current that with gentle murmure glides
(Thou know'st) being stop'd, impatiently doth rage:
But when his faire course is not hindered,
He makes sweet musicke with th' enameld stones,
Giuing a gentle kisse to euery sedge
He ouer-taketh in his pilgrimage.
And so by many winding nookes he straies
With willing sport to the wilde Ocean.
Then let me goe, and hinder not my course:
Ile be as patient as a gentle streame,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step haue brought me to my Loue,
And there Ile rest, as after much turmoile
A blessed soule doth in Elizium.

Luc.
But in what habit will you goe along?

Iul.
Not like a woman, for I would preuent
The loose encounters of lasciuious men:
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weedes
As may beseeme some well reputed Page.

Luc.
Why then your Ladiship must cut your haire.

Iul.
No girle, Ile knit it vp in silken strings,
With twentie od-conceited true-loue knots:
To be fantastique, may become a youth
Of greater time then I shall shew to be.

Luc.
What fashion (Madam) shall I make your breeches?

Iul.
That fits as well, as tell me (good my Lord)
What compasse will you weare your Farthingale?
Why eu'n what fashion thou best likes (Lucetta.)

Luc.
You must needs haue thẽ with a cod-peece Madam

Iul.
Out, out, (Lucetta) that wilbe illfauourd.

Luc.
A round hose (Madam) now's not worth a pin
Vnlesse you haue a cod-peece to stick pins on.

Iul.
Lucetta, as thou lou'st me let me haue
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly.
But tell me (wench) how will the world repute me
For vndertaking so vnstaid a iourney?
I feare me it will make me scandaliz'd.

Luc.
If you thinke so, then stay at home, and go not.

Iul.
Nay, that I will not.

Luc.
Then neuer dreame on Infamy, but go:
If Protheus like your iourney, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:
I feare me he will scarce be pleas'd with all.

Iul.
That is the least (Lucetta) of my feare:
A thousand oathes, an Ocean of his teares,
And instances of infinite of Loue,
Warrant me welcome to my Protheus.

Luc.
All these are seruants to deceitfull men.

Iul.
Base men, that vse them to so base effect;
But truer starres did gouerne Protheus birth,
His words are bonds, his oathes are oracles,
His loue sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His teares, pure messengers, sent from his heart,
His heart, as far from fraud, as heauen from earth.

Luc.
Pray heau'n he proue so when you come to him.

Iul.
Now, as thou lou'st me, do him not that wrong,
To beare a hard opinion of his truth:
Onely deserue my loue, by louing him,
And presently goe with me to my chamber
To take a note of what I stand in need of,
To furnish me vpon my longing iourney:
All that is mine I leaue at thy dispose,
My goods, my Lands, my reputation,
Onely, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence:
Come; answere not: but to it presently,
I am impatient of my tarriance.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Valentine and Speed

SPEED
Sir, your glove.

VALENTINE
Not mine. My gloves are on.

SPEED
Why then, this may be yours, for this is but one.

VALENTINE
Ha! Let me see. Ay, give it me, it's mine.
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine.
Ah, Silvia, Silvia!

SPEED
Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!

VALENTINE
How now, sirrah?

SPEED
She is not within hearing, sir.

VALENTINE
Why, sir, who bade you call her?

SPEED
Your worship, sir, or else I mistook.

VALENTINE
Well, you'll still be too forward.

SPEED
And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

VALENTINE
Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know Madam
Silvia?

SPEED
She that your worship loves?

VALENTINE
Why, how know you that I am in love?

SPEED
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a
malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast;
to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh,
like a schoolboy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a
young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like
one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing;
to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were
wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you
walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted,
it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it
was for want of money. And now you are metamorphosed
with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can
hardly think you my master.

VALENTINE
Are all these things perceived in me?

SPEED
They are all perceived without ye.

VALENTINE
Without me? They cannot.

SPEED
Without you? Nay, that's certain; for without you
were so simple, none else would. But you are so without
these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine
through you like the water in an urinal, that not an eye
that sees you but is a physician to comment on your
malady.

VALENTINE
But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

SPEED
She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?

VALENTINE
Hast thou observed that? Even she I mean.

SPEED
Why, sir, I know her not.

VALENTINE
Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet knowest her not?

SPEED
Is she not hard-favoured, sir?

VALENTINE
Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.

SPEED
Sir, I know that well enough.

VALENTINE
What dost thou know?

SPEED
That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured.

VALENTINE
I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her
favour infinite.

SPEED
That's because the one is painted, and the other
out of all count.

VALENTINE
How painted? And how out of count?

SPEED
Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no
man counts of her beauty.

VALENTINE
How esteemest thou me? I account of her
beauty.

SPEED
You never saw her since she was deformed.

VALENTINE
How long hath she been deformed?

SPEED
Ever since you loved her.

VALENTINE
I have loved her ever since I saw her, and
still I see her beautiful.

SPEED
If you love her, you cannot see her.

VALENTINE
Why?

SPEED
Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes,
or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have,
when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered!

VALENTINE
What should I see then?

SPEED
Your own present folly, and her passing deformity;
for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose;
and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

VALENTINE
Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

SPEED
True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you,
you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder
to chide you for yours.

VALENTINE
In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

SPEED
I would you were set, so your affection would
cease.

VALENTINE
Last night she enjoined me to write some
lines to one she loves.

SPEED
And have you?

VALENTINE
I have.

SPEED
Are they not lamely writ?

VALENTINE
No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace,
here she comes.
Enter Silvia

SPEED
(aside)
O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.

VALENTINE
Madam and mistress, a thousand good
morrows.

SPEED
(aside)
O, give ye good even! Here's a million of
manners.

SILVIA
Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

SPEED
(aside)
He should give her interest, and she gives it
him.

VALENTINE
As you enjoined me, I have writ your letter
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your ladyship.
He gives her the letter

SILVIA
I thank you, gentle servant, 'tis very clerkly done.

VALENTINE
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.

SILVIA
Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

VALENTINE
No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
Please you command, a thousand times as much;
And yet –

SILVIA
A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it; and yet I care not;
And yet take this again;
She offer him the letter
and yet I thank you,
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

SPEED
(aside)
And yet you will; and yet, another ‘ yet.’

VALENTINE
What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?

SILVIA
Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
But, since unwillingly, take them again.
Nay, take them.
She offers the letter again

VALENTINE
Madam, they are for you.

SILVIA
Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request,
But I will none of them; they are for you.
I would have had them writ more movingly.
Valentine takes the letter

VALENTINE
Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

SILVIA
And when it's writ, for my sake read it over;
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

VALENTINE
If it please me, madam, what then?

SILVIA
Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.
And so, good morrow, servant.
Exit

SPEED
(aside)
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?

VALENTINE
How now, sir? What are you reasoning with
yourself?

SPEED
Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason.

VALENTINE
To do what?

SPEED
To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.

VALENTINE
To whom?

SPEED
To yourself. Why, she woos you by a figure.

VALENTINE
What figure?

SPEED
By a letter, I should say.

VALENTINE
Why, she hath not writ to me.

SPEED
What need she, when she hath made you write to
yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

VALENTINE
No, believe me.

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

VALENTINE
She gave me none, except an angry word.

SPEED
Why, she hath given you a letter.

VALENTINE
That's the letter I writ to her friend.

SPEED
And that letter hath she delivered, and there an
end.

VALENTINE
I would it were no worse.

SPEED
I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why
muse you, sir? 'Tis dinner-time.

VALENTINE
I have dined.

SPEED
Ay, but hearken, sir: though the chameleon Love
can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my
victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your
mistress; be moved, be moved.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene II
Enter Proteus and Julia

PROTEUS
Have patience, gentle Julia.

JULIA
I must, where is no remedy.

PROTEUS
When possibly I can, I will return.

JULIA
If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
She gives him a ring

PROTEUS
Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
He gives her a ring

JULIA
And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

PROTEUS
Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming. Answer not.
The tide is now – nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should.
Julia, farewell! (Exit Julia) What, gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do; it cannot speak,
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
Enter Panthino

PANTHINO
Sir Proteus, you are stayed for.

PROTEUS
Go; I come.
(aside) Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Launce with his dog, Crab

LAUNCE
Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;
all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have
received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am
going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think
Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives. My
mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,
our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all
our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted
cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble-stone,
and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew
would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my
grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind
at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it.
This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father.
No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be
so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole.
This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my
father. A vengeance on't, there 'tis. Now, sir, this staff
is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and
as small as a wand. This hat is Nan our maid. I am the
dog. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog. O, the
dog is me, and I am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to
my father: ‘ Father, your blessing.’ Now should not the
shoe speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my
father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother.
O, that she could speak now like an old woman! Well,
I kiss her. Why, there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up
and down. Now come I to my sister. Mark the moan she
makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor
speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino

PANTHINO
Launce, away, away! Aboard! Thy master is
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the
matter? Why weepest thou, man? Away, ass, you'll lose
the tide, if you tarry any longer.

LAUNCE
It is no matter if the tied were lost, for it is the
unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

PANTHINO
What's the unkindest tide?

LAUNCE
Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.

PANTHINO
Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and,
in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy
voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose
thy service; and, in losing thy service – Why dost thou
stop my mouth?

LAUNCE
For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

PANTHINO
Where should I lose my tongue?

LAUNCE
In thy tale.

PANTHINO
In my tail!

LAUNCE
Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master,
and the service, and the tied. Why, man, if the river
were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears. If the wind
were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

PANTHINO
Come, come away, man. I was sent to call
thee.

LAUNCE
Sir, call me what thou darest.

PANTHINO
Wilt thou go?

LAUNCE
Well, I will go.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene IV
Enter Silvia, Thurio, Valentine, and Speed

SILVIA
Servant!

VALENTINE
Mistress?

SPEED
(to Valentine)
Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

VALENTINE
(to Speed)
Ay, boy; it's for love.

SPEED
(to Valentine)
Not of you.

VALENTINE
(to Speed)
Of my mistress, then.

SPEED
(to Valentine)
'Twere good you knocked him.
Exit

SILVIA
Servant, you are sad.

VALENTINE
Indeed, madam, I seem so.

THURIO
Seem you that you are not?

VALENTINE
Haply I do.

THURIO
So do counterfeits.

VALENTINE
So do you.

THURIO
What seem I that I am not?

VALENTINE
Wise.

THURIO
What instance of the contrary?

VALENTINE
Your folly.

THURIO
And how quote you my folly?

VALENTINE
I quote it in your jerkin.

THURIO
My jerkin is a doublet.

VALENTINE
Well, then, I'll double your folly.

THURIO
How?

SILVIA
What, angry, Sir Thurio? Do you change colour?

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

THURIO
That hath more mind to feed on your blood than
live in your air.

VALENTINE
You have said, sir.

THURIO
Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

VALENTINE
I know it well, sir; you always end ere you
begin.

SILVIA
A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly
shot off.

VALENTINE
'Tis indeed, madam. We thank the giver.

SILVIA
Who is that, servant?

VALENTINE
Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire.
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,
and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

THURIO
Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall
make your wit bankrupt.

VALENTINE
I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of
words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers;
for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live
by your bare words.
Enter the Duke of Milan

SILVIA
No more, gentlemen, no more! Here comes my
father.

DUKE
Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?

VALENTINE
My lord, I will be thankful
To any happy messenger from thence.

DUKE
Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?

VALENTINE
Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation,
And not without desert so well reputed.

DUKE
Hath he not a son?

VALENTINE
Ay, my good lord, a son that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.

DUKE
You know him well?

VALENTINE
I know him as myself; for from our infancy
We have conversed and spent our hours together;
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus – for that's his name –
Made use and fair advantage of his days:
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellowed, but his judgement ripe;
And in a word, for far behind his worth
Comes all the praises that I now bestow,
He is complete in feature and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

DUKE
Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
With commendation from great potentates,
And here he means to spend his time awhile.
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

VALENTINE
Should I have wished a thing, it had been he.

DUKE
Welcome him then according to his worth.
Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.
I will send him hither to you presently.
Exit

VALENTINE
This is the gentleman I told your ladyship
Had come along with me but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks.

SILVIA
Belike that now she hath enfranchised them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.

VALENTINE
Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.

SILVIA
Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?

VALENTINE
Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.

THURIO
They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

VALENTINE
To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object Love can wink.
Enter Proteus

SILVIA
Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.

VALENTINE
Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.

SILVIA
His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wished to hear from.

VALENTINE
Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

SILVIA
Too low a mistress for so high a servant.

PROTEUS
Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

VALENTINE
Leave off discourse of disability;
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

PROTEUS
My duty will I boast of, nothing else.

SILVIA
And duty never yet did want his meed.
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

PROTEUS
I'll die on him that says so but yourself.

SILVIA
That you are welcome?

PROTEUS
That you are worthless.
Enter a Servant

SERVANT
Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.

SILVIA
I wait upon his pleasure. (Exit Servant) Come, Sir Thurio,
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.

PROTEUS
We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
Exeunt Silvia and Thurio

VALENTINE
Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

PROTEUS
Your friends are well, and have them much commended.

VALENTINE
And how do yours?

PROTEUS
I left them all in health.

VALENTINE
How does your lady, and how thrives your love?

PROTEUS
My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know you joy not in a love discourse.

VALENTINE
Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now;
I have done penance for contemning Love,
Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
And hath so humbled me as I confess
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
Now no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

PROTEUS
Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
Was this the idol that you worship so?

VALENTINE
Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

PROTEUS
No; but she is an earthly paragon.

VALENTINE
Call her divine.

PROTEUS
I will not flatter her.

VALENTINE
O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

PROTEUS
When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,
And I must minister the like to you.

VALENTINE
Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

PROTEUS
Except my mistress.

VALENTINE
Sweet, except not any,
Except thou wilt except against my love.

PROTEUS
Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

VALENTINE
And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour –
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower
And make rough winter everlastingly.

PROTEUS
Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

VALENTINE
Pardon me, Proteus, all I can is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone.

PROTEUS
Then let her alone.

VALENTINE
Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along; and I must after,
For love, thou knowest, is full of jealousy.

PROTEUS
But she loves you?

VALENTINE
Ay, and we are betrothed; nay more, our marriage-hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determined of; how I must climb her window,
The ladder made of cords, and all the means
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

PROTEUS
Go on before; I shall inquire you forth.
I must unto the road to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.

VALENTINE
Will you make haste?

PROTEUS
I will.
Exit Valentine
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentine's praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia that I love –
That I did love, for now my love is thawed;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
O, but I love his lady too too much!
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her!
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene V
Enter Speed and Launce, meeting

SPEED
Launce! By mine honesty, welcome to Milan.

LAUNCE
Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not
welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone
till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a place till
some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say,
‘ Welcome.’

SPEED
Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with
you presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou
shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did
thy master part with Madam Julia?

LAUNCE
Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted
very fairly in jest.

SPEED
But shall she marry him?

LAUNCE
No.

SPEED
How then? Shall he marry her?

LAUNCE
No, neither.

SPEED
What, are they broken?

LAUNCE
No, they are both as whole as a fish.

SPEED
Why, then, how stands the matter with them?

LAUNCE
Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it
stands well with her.

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

LAUNCE
What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My
staff understands me.

SPEED
What thou sayest?

LAUNCE
Ay, and what I do too; look there, I'll but lean,
and my staff understands me.

SPEED
It stands under thee, indeed.

LAUNCE
Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

SPEED
But tell me true, will't be a match?

LAUNCE
Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it
will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.

SPEED
The conclusion is, then, that it will.

LAUNCE
Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but
by a parable.

SPEED
'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest
thou that my master is become a notable lover?

LAUNCE
I never knew him otherwise.

SPEED
Than how?

LAUNCE
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

SPEED
Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.

LAUNCE
Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy
master.

SPEED
I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.

LAUNCE
Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself
in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if
not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name
of a Christian.

SPEED
Why?

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

SPEED
At thy service.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene VI
Enter Proteus

PROTEUS
To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn.
And e'en that power which gave me first my oath
Provokes me to this threefold perjury:
Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.
O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit that wants resolved will
To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferred
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
But there I leave to love where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most precious in itself;
And Silvia – witness heaven, that made her fair! –
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembering that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself
Without some treachery used to Valentine.
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window,
Myself in counsel, his competitor.
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising and pretended flight,
Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine,
For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter;
But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene VII
Enter Julia and Lucetta

JULIA
Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;
And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee,
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charactered and engraved,
To lesson me and tell me some good mean
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

LUCETTA
Alas, the way is wearisome and long!

JULIA
A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection as Sir Proteus.

LUCETTA
Better forbear till Proteus make return.

JULIA
O, knowest thou not his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

LUCETTA
I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,
But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

JULIA
The more thou dammest it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou knowest, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th' enamelled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course.
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

LUCETTA
But in what habit will you go along?

JULIA
Not like a woman, for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men.
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.

LUCETTA
Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.

JULIA
No, girl, I'll knit it up in silken strings
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots –
To be fantastic may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.

LUCETTA
What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?

JULIA
That fits as well as, ‘ Tell me, good my lord,
What compass will you wear your farthingale?’
Why e'en what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.

LUCETTA
You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

JULIA
Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favoured.

LUCETTA
A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

JULIA
Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have
What thou thinkest meet, and is most mannerly.
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me
For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me it will make me scandalized.

LUCETTA
If you think so, then stay at home and go not.

JULIA
Nay, that I will not.

LUCETTA
Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey when you come,
No matter who's displeased when you are gone.
I fear me he will scarce be pleased withal.

JULIA
That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances of infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

LUCETTA
All these are servants to deceitful men.

JULIA
Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth;
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

LUCETTA
Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him!

JULIA
Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong
To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
Only deserve my love by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of
To furnish me upon my longing journey.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my land, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.
Exeunt
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