Complete Plays, The

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Complete Plays, The Page 343

by William Shakespeare


  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 cherish’d 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 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 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 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;

  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 lock’d 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 every thing 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 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?

  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.

  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 hither them importune,

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

  Because myself do want my servants’ fortune:

  I curse myself, for they are sent by me,

  That they should harbour where their lord would 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! overweening 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.

  Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;

  But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence.

  Exit

  Valentine

  And why not death rather than living torment?

  To die is to be banish’d from myself;

  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, illumined, cherish’d, 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 Launce

  Proteus

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

  Launce

  Soho, soho!

  Proteus

  What seest thou?

  Launce

  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.

  Launce

  Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?

  Proteus

  Who wouldst thou strike?

  Launce

  Nothing.

  Proteus

  Villain, forbear.

  Launce

  Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing: I pray you,—

  Proteus

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

  Valentine

  My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news,

  So much of bad already hath possess’d 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?

  Launce

  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 banished?

  Proteus

  Ay, ay; and she hath offer’d 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 tender’d;

  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 deliver’d

  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 lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,

  Regard thy danger, and along with me!

  Valentine

  I pray thee, Launce, 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 Valentine and Proteus

  Launce

  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.

  Pulling out a paper

  Here is the cate-log of her condition. ‘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, Signior Launce! what news with your mastership?

  Launce

  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?

  Launce

  The blackest news that ever thou heardest.

  Speed

  Why, man, how black?

  Launce

  Why, as black as ink.

  Speed

  Let me read them.

  Launce

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

  Speed

  Thou liest; I can.

  Launce

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

  Speed

  Marry, the son of my grandfather.

  Launce

  O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves that thou canst not read.

  Speed

  Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.

  Launce

  There; and St. Nicholas be thy speed!

  Speed

  [Reads] ‘Imprimis: She can milk.’

  Launce

  Ay, that she can.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She brews good ale.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Item: She can sew.’

  Launce />
  That’s as much as to say, Can she so?

  Speed

  ‘Item: She can knit.’

  Launce

  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.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Item: She can spin.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Item: She hath many nameless virtues.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Here follow her vices.’

  Launce

  Close at the heels of her virtues.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She is not to be kissed fasting in respect of her breath.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Item: She hath a sweet mouth.’

  Launce

  That makes amends for her sour breath.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She doth talk in her sleep.’

  Launce

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

  Speed

  ‘Item: She is slow in words.’

  Launce

  O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue: I pray thee, out with’t, and place it for her chief virtue.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She is proud.’

  Launce

  Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy, and cannot be ta’en from her.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She hath no teeth.’

  Launce

  I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She is curst.’

  Launce

  Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She will often praise her liquor.’

  Launce

  If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I will; for good things should be praised.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She is too liberal.’

  Launce

  Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.’

  Launce

  Stop there; I’ll have her: she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.

  Speed

  ‘Item: She hath more hair than wit,’—

  Launce

  More hair than wit? It may be; I’ll prove it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What’s next?

  Speed

 

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