The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

And with the vantage of mine own excuse

  Hath he excepted most against my love.

  O, how this spring of love resembleth

  The uncertain glory of an April day,

  Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,

  And by and by a cloud takes all away.

  Enter Panthino

  PANTHINO

  Sir Proteus, your father calls for you.

  He is in haste, therefore I pray you go.

  PROTEUS

  Why, this it is. My heart accords thereto,

  And yet a thousand times it answers ‘No’.

  Exeunt

  2.1 Enter Valentine and Speed

  SPEED (offering Valentine a glove)

  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 wreath 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 ABC; 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 know’st 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 esteem’st 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. 85

  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 e’en! 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 a 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 offers 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.

  She presses the letter upon him

  Nay, take them.

  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

  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 he
ard 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 from 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

  2.2 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.She gives him a ring

  Keep this remembrance for thy Julia’s sake.

  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.

  ⌈They 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. (Julia weeps) 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, I come.—

  Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

  Exeunt

  2.3 Enter Lance with his dog Crab

  LANCE (to the audience) Nay, ‘twill be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the Lances 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 a moved 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 Lance, 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’ll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.

  LANCE 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?

  LANCE 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—

  Lance puts his hand over Panthino’s mouth

  Why dost thou stop my mouth?

  LANCE For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

  PANTHINO Where should I lose my tongue?

  LANCE In thy tale.

  PANTHINO In thy tail!

  LANCE 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.

  LANCE Sir, call me what thou darest.

  PANTHINO Wilt thou go?

  LANCE Well, I will go. Exeunt

  2.4 Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed

  SILVIA Servant!

  VALENTINE Mistress?

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

  VALENTINE Ay, boy, it’s for love.

  SPEED Not of you. 5

  VALENTINE Of my mistress, then.

  SPEED ‘Twere good you knocked him.

  SILVIA (to Valentine) 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.

  THORIO 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 borr
ows 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.

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

  Enter the Duke

  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 knew 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.