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And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
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.
Val. 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. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con
tents 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 promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men,
Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.
safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. 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.
Val. 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.
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 bear
it Under a cloak, that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the
turn? Val. Ay, my good lord. Duke.
Then let me see thy cloak ; I'll get me one of such another length.
Val. 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.
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And slaves they are to me, that send them fying : 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 1, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the
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. Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lovst thy life, make speed from hence.
[Exit Duke. Val. And why not death, rather than living tor
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Valentine ?
word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good
news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them.
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untunable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead ?
Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! Hath she forsworn me?
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!What is
news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish’d.
Pro. That thou art banish’d, O, that's 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
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 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. Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou
speak'st, Have some malignant power upon my
I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.
Pro. 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.