Val. What would your Grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady in Verona 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'dHow, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her. Send her another, never give her o'er; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it. Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for Love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone. How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? Then let me see thy cloak; I'll get me one of such another length. I Vul. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same? What's here?-To Silvia! [Reads. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee. 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.— Why, Phaethon-for thou art Merops' son- Thank me for this, more than for all the favours Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit. Val. And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho! so-ho! Pro. What seest thou? Laun. Him we go to find; there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom would'st thou strike? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray youPro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia!Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No. Valentine. Val. No, Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banished-Oh, that's the news!From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. Val. Oh! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom -Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual forceA sea of melting pearl, which some call tears. Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Val. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st, Have some malignant pow'r upon my life. If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, Pro. Cease to lament for that thou can'st not help, Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the North-gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt VALENTINE and PROteus. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave: but |