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Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and shoe is my father;-no, tio, this left shoe is my
there an end.
Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should:
[Exit JULIA. Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak ; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
SCENE III. -The same. A Street.
Enter LAUNCE, leading a Dog.
Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with sir 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 lef
I am the dog,
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 vengence on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as maid; I am the dog: -no the dog is Timself, and lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our self; ay, so, so. - O, the dog is me, and I am myNow come I to my father; Father, your blessing; now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman; well, I kiss her;-why, there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down; now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty’d. Pan. What's the unkindest tide?
Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.
Pan. 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?
Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pan. In thy tail?
Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide! Why, man, | if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to
Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chaeleon.
Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.
Val. You have said, sir.
Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.
Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.
S. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.
Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Fel. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company.
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.
No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth; Silvia, I speak to you: and you, sir Thurio: For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it: I'll send him hither to you presently. [Erit DUKE. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Su. Have done, have done; heré comes the gentleman.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus! - Mistress, I be-
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability : · Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed; Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome? Pro.
No; that you are worthless. Enter Servant.
Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure.
Tel. Ay, my good Lord; a son, that well deserves Go with me:- Once more, new servant, welcome:
The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well?
Fal. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgement ripe ;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know, you joy not in a love-discourse.
Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now :
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, I have done penance for contemning love;
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
Fal. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been hë.
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye: Was this the idol that you worship so?
Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Val. O, flatter me; for lave delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills; And I must minister the like to you.
Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress..
Sweet, except not any; Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too: She shall be dignified with this high honour, To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; She is alone.
Pro. Then let her alone.
Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
Ay, we are betroth'd:
Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth:
I must unto the road, to disembark
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan.
Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I am not welcome. I reckon this always-that a man is never undone, till he be hanged; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.
Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia?
Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him?
Speed. How then? shall he marry her?
Speed. What, are they broken?
Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?
Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.
Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee
Speed. What thou say'st?
Laun. Ay, and what I do, too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.
Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one, Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.
Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.
Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable
Laun. I never knew him otherwise.
Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him
Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. Laun. Why fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy
Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to
Pra. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear:
But there I leave to love, where I should love.
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.
Jul Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist me!
Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings, to fly;
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns;
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones,
Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair.
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
Jul. That fits as well, as—“tell me, good my lord, "What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece,
Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.
Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz❜d.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. Jul. Nay, that I will not.
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, de him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
And presently go with me to my chamber,
SCENE I. Milan.
- An Ante-room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about.
[Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal : But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.
Duke. Be they of much import?
Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father: And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, I now am full resolved to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in : Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; For me and my possessions she esteems not. Val. What would your grace have me to do in this Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence: Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, (For long agone I have forgot to court: Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;) How, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent he Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best co
Send her another; never give her o'er;