The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  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.

  Exeunt

  3.1 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?

  PROTEUS

  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.

  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 determined 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.

  DUKE

  Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,

  Which to requite command me while I live.

  This love of theirs myself have often seen,

  Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep,

  And oftentimes have purposed 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 shunned—

  I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find

  That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.

  And that thou mayst 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 conveyed away.

  PROTEUS

  Know, noble lord, they have devised 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.

  PROTEUS

  Adieu, my lord. Sir Valentine is coming. Exit Enter Valentine

  DUKE

  Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?

  VALENTINE

  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?

  VALENTINE

  The tenor of them doth but signify

  My health and happy being at your court.

  DUKE

  Nay then, no matter. Stay with me awhile.

  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.

  VALENTINE

  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 cherished 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.

  VALENTINE

  What would your grace have me to do in this?

  DUKE

  There is a lady of Verona here

  Whom I affect, but she is nice, and coy,

  And naught 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 changed—

  How and which way I may bestow myself

  To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

  VALENTINE

  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.

  VALENTINE

  A woman sometime 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,

  Forwhy the fools are mad if left alone.

  Take no repulse, whatever she doth say:

  For ‘Get 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 promised 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.

  VALENTINE

  Why then I would resort to her by night.

  DUKE

  Ay, but the doors be locked and keys kept safe,

  That no man hath recourse to her by night.

  VALENTINE

  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.

  VALENTINE

  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.

  VALENTINE

  When would you use it? Pray sir, tell me that.

  DUKE

  This very night; for love is like a child

  That longs for everything that he can come by.

  VALENTINE

  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?

  VALENTINE

  It will be light, my lor
d, that you may bear it

  Under a cloak that is of any length.

  DUKE

  A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

  VALENTINE

  Ay, my good lord.

  DUKE

  Then let me see thy cloak,

  I’ll get me one of such another length.

  VALENTINE

  Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

  DUKE

  How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?

  I pray thee let me feel thy cloak upon me.

  He lifts Valentine’s cloak and finds a letter and a rope-ladder

  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 blessed

  them,

  Because myself do want my servants’ 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, Phaeton, 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 bestowed 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.

  Be gone. I will not hear thy vain excuse,

  But as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.

  Exit

  VALENTINE

  And why not death, rather than living torment?

  To die is to be banished from myself,

  And Silvia is my self. Banished 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

  Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive.

  I fly not death to fly his deadly doom.

  Tarry I here I but attend on death,

  But fly I hence, I fly away from life.

  Enter Proteus and Lance

  PROTEUS Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

  LANCE So-ho, so-ho!

  PROTEUS What seest thou?

  LANCE Him we go to find. There’s not a hair on’s head but ‘tis a Valentine.

  PROTEUS Valentine?

  VALENTINE No.

  PROTEUS Who then—his spirit?

  VALENTINE Neither.

  PROTEUS What then?

  VALENTINE Nothing.

  LANCE Can nothing speak?

  He threatens Valentine

  Master, shall I strike?

  PROTEUS Who wouldst thou strike?

  LANCE Nothing.

  PROTEUS Villain, forbear.

  LANCE Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—

  PROTEUS

  Sirrah, I say forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.

  VALENTINE

  My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news,

  So much of bad already hath possessed them.

  PROTEUS

  Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,

  For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

  VALENTINE

  Is Silvia dead?

  PROTEUS No, Valentine.

  VALENTINE

  No Valentine indeed, for sacred Silvia.

  Hath she forsworn me?

  PROTEUS

  No, Valentine.

  VALENTINE

  No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.

  What is your news?

  LANCE Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

  PROTEUS

  That thou art banished. O that’s the news:

  From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

  VALENTINE

  O, I have fed upon this woe already,

  And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

  Doth Silvia know that I am banishèd?

  PROTEUS

  Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom,

  Which unreversed stands in effectual force,

  A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears.

  Those at her father’s churlish feet she tendered,

  With them, upon her knees, her humble self,

  Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them

  As if but now they waxed pale, for woe.

  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 chafed him so

  When she for thy repeal was suppliant

  That to close prison he commanded her,

  With many bitter threats of biding there.

  VALENTINE

  No more, unless the next word that thou speak’st

  Have some malignant power upon my life.

  If so I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,

  As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

  PROTEUS

  Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,

  And study help for that which thou lament‘st.

  Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

  Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love.

  Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.

  Hope is a lover’s staff. Walk hence with that,

  And manage it against despairing thoughts.

  Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,

  Which, being writ to me, shall be delivered

  Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.

  The time now serves not to expostulate.

  Come, I’ll convey thee through the city gate,

  And ere I part with thee confer at large

  Of all that may concern thy love affairs.

  As thou lov’st Silvia, though not for thyself,

  Regard thy danger, and along with me.

  VALENTINE

  I pray thee, Lance, an if thou seest my boy

  Bid him make haste, and meet me at the North Gate.

  PROTEUS

  Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

  VALENTINE

  O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine.

  Exeunt Proteus and Valentine

  LANCE I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave. But that’s all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love, but a team of horse shall
not pluck that from me, nor who ‘tis I love; and yet ’tis a woman, but what woman I will not tell myself; and yet ‘tis a milkmaid; yet ‘tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian.

  He takes out a paper

  Here is the catalogue of her conditions. ‘Imprimis, she can fetch and carry’—why, a horse can do no more. Nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry, therefore is she better than a jade. ‘Item, she can milk.’ Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

  Enter Speed

  SPEED How now, Signor Lance, what news with your mastership?

  LANCE With my master’s ship? Why, it is at sea.

  SPEED Well, your old vice still, mistake the word. What news then in your paper?

  LANCE The blackest news that ever thou heard’st.

  SPEED Why, man, how ‘black’?

  LANCE Why, as black as ink.

  SPEED Let me read them.

  LANCE Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read.

  SPEED Thou liest. I can.

  LANCE I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?

  SPEED Marry, the son of my grandfather.

  LANCE O illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy grand-mother. This proves that thou canst not read.

  SPEED Come, fool, come. Try me in thy paper.

  LANCE (giving Speed the paper) There: and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.

  SPEED ‘Imprimis, she can milk.’

  LANCE Ay, that she can.

  SPEED ‘Item, she brews good ale.’

  LANCE And thereof comes the proverb ‘Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale’.

  SPEED ‘Item, she can sew.’

  LANCE That’s as much as to say ‘Can she so?’

  SPEED ‘Item, she can knit.’

  LANCE What need a man care for a stock with a wench when she can knit him a stock?

  SPEED ‘Item, she can wash and scour.’

  LANCE A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured.

  SPEED ‘Item, she can spin.’

  LANCE Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.

  SPEED ‘Item, she hath many nameless virtues.’

  LANCE That’s as much as to say ‘bastard virtues’, that indeed know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.

  SPEED Here follows her vices.

  LANCE Close at the heels of her virtues.

  SPEED ‘Item, she is not to be broken with fasting, in respect of her breath.’

  LANCE Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.

  SPEED ‘Item, she hath a sweet mouth.’

  LANCE That makes amends for her sour breath.

  SPEED ‘Item, she doth talk in her sleep.’

  LANCE It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.