Enter PANTHINO.

Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come.Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Street. Enter LAUNCE, leading 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 receiv'd 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 pibble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog; a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting: why, my gran› dam, 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 is my mother, and this my father. A veng'ance 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 shoe 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.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.

Launce. It is no matter if the ti'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ti'd that ever any man ti'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

Launce. Why, he that's ti'd here; Crab,my dog. Pant. 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,-

Launce. Lose the ti'd, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and 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. [call thee. Pant. Come; come away, man; I was sent to Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. Pant. Wilt thou go?

Launce. Well, I will go.

SCENE IV.

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.

Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress, then.

Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I that I am not?
Val. Wise.

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

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

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

[colour? Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change Val. Give him leave, madam: he is a kind of cameleon. [blood, than live in your air. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 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. [quickly shot off. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant?

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

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

Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.

[fancy

Milan. A Room in the DUKE's Palace. Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Sil. Servant.--Val. Mistress.

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good,

He is as worthy for an empress' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.

Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a while.
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. [he.
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been
Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his
worth.

Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio:-
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit DUKE.
Val. This is the gentleman, I told your 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
Upon some other pawn for fealty. [them,
Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them pri-
soners still.
[blind,
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu. They say, that Love hath not an eye at all.
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:
Upon a homely object, Love can wink.

Enter PROTEUS.

Sil. Have done, have done: here comes the gentleman. [Exit THURIO.

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus !-Mistress, I beseech you,

Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

Val. Leave off discourse of disability.Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed. Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome? Pro.

That you are worthless. Enter THURIO.

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

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: 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. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

[Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? [commended. Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much Val. And how do yours? Pro. I left them all in health. [love? Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: I know, you joy not in a love discourse.

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: I have done penance for contemning love; [me Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's O,gentle Proteus! Love's a mighty lord, [sorrow. 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.

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

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon.
Val. Call her divine.

Pro.
I will not flatter her.
Val. O! flatter me, for love delights in praises.
Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills;
And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress. Val. Sweet, except not any; Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her, too; She shall be dignified with this high honour,To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing 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 worth as She is alone. [nothing.

Pro.

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

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our
marriage hour,

With all the cunning manner of our flight
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window,
The ladder made of cords, and all the means
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth.
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use,
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val. Will you make haste?
Pro. I will.-
[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 her mien, or Valentinus' praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair, and so is Julia that I love ;-
That I did love; for now my love is thaw'd,
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not, as I was wont :
O! but I love his lady too too much;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
c 2

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this alwaysthat a man is never undone, till he be hang'd; 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?

Launce. Marry, after they clos'd 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. 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 say'st?

Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. [all one. Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is 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 say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

Launce. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how? [him to be. Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest Speed. Why, thou ass, thou mistak'st 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, so; wilt thou go? Speed. At thy service.

SCENE VI.

[Exeunt.

The Same. An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter PROTEUS.

Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And ev❜n that power, which gave me first my oath, Provokes me to this threefold perjury: Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. O sweet-suggesting Love! if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd

With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia 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 us'd to Valentine.
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor.
Now, presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight,
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine,
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit.
SCENE VII.-Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me:
And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,
To lessen me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

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

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food? By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,
But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more
it burns.

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

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men.
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page. [hair.
Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your

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

[not.

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go Jul. Nay, that I will not.

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

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

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect;
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heav'n from earth.
Luc. Pray heav'n, he prove so, when you come
to him!

[wrong, Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 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 lands, my reputation; Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come; answer not, but to it presently: I am impatient of my tarriance.

Act Third. SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

a

Milan. An Ante-chamber in the DUKE's Palace.
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.
Duke. SIR THURIO, give us leave, I pray,
We have some secrets to confer about.- [while:
[Exit THURIO.
Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis-
The law of friendship bids me to conceal; [cover,
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that,
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. [care,
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep,
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court;
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,
And so unworthily disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)

I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a

mean

How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord: Sir Valentine is coming.
[Exit.

Enter VALENTINE.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Val. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court.

Duke. Nay, then no matter: stay with me a I am to break with thee of some affairs [while. 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 [man Were rich and honourable: besides, the gentleIs 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 childlike duty,
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in :
Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.

Val. What would your Grace have me to do in
Duke. There is a lady of Verona, here, [this?
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.

[words.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,
More than quick words do move a woman's mind.
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best
contents her.

Send her another; never give her o'er,
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone,
For why the fools are mad, if left alone.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
Forget you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.'
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
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 win-
dow?

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. [cords, Val. Why, then, a ladder quaintly made of 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 Under a cloak that is of any length. [bear it Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the Val. Ay, my good lord. [turn? Duke. Then, let me see thy cloak: I'll get me one of such another length. [lord. Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.What letter is this same? What's here?" To Silvia !"

And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. "My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;

And slaves they are to me, that send them flying:

O! could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying.

My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; While I, their king, that thither them importune,

Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them,

Because myself do want my servant's fortune. 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, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son,) Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder! over-weening slave! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, And think my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence. Thank me for this, more than for all the favours Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. But if thou linger in my territories 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. Begone: I will not hear thy vain excuse; But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit DUKE.

Val. And why not death, rather than living To die is to be banish'd from myself, [torment? And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self; a deadly banishment. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be, to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly this deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy; run, run, and seek him out. Launce. So-hough! so-hough!

Pro. What seest thou?

Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear.-Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead? Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! —

Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine. [me!Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn What is your news? [are vanished. Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you Pro. That thou art banish'd: O! that is the news: From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. Val. O! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A 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; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became As if but now they waxed pale for woe: [them, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there.