Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace! here she comes. Speed. [Aside] O excellent motion ! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her. Enter SILVIA. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows. Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even! here's a million of manners. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him. Val. As you enjoin'd 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. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done. Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For being ignorant to whom it goes I writ at random, very doubtfully. Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; Speed. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another "yet." But since unwillingly, take them again. Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. 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. Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 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, servant. [Exit. Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 130 140 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? Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. Val. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia. Val. To whom? Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? 130 Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me. 160 Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you per ceive her earnest? Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end. Val. I would it were no worse. Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 170 For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, cover, 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. Val. 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. SCENE II. Verona. JULIA's house, Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Jul. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. [Exeunt. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring. Pro. Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this. Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 10 [Exit Julia. What, gone without a word? Enter PANTHINO. Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. SCENE III. The same. A street. Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. 20 [Exeunt. 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-Oh! 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 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. Enter PANTHINO. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped and thou art to post after with cars. 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. Pan, What's the unkindest tide? Launce. Why, he that's tied 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? Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Pan. Where should I lose my tongue? Launce. In thy tale. Pan. In thy tail! 51 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. Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pan. Wilt thou go? Launce. Well, I will go 60 [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE's palace. Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED. Sil. Servant! Val. Mistress? 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 knocked him. [Exit. 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. 20 Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour? Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. 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. 30 Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. 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. 40 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. Enter DUKE. Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: Of much good news? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? To be of worth and worthy estimation And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son? 50 |