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Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear.
Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect; But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to
him! Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth : Only deserve my love by loving him, And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my loving journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 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.
ACT III. SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-chamber in the Duke's
Palace. Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile: We have some secrets to confer about.-Éxit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
1 longing: in f. e. VOL. I.-9
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd 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.
Pro. Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is coming.[Exit.
Enter VALENTINE,' in his cloak.
Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger
Duke. Be they of much import?
Val. 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.
Val. 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 fancy to 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 resolv'd 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.
Val. What would your grace have me to do in this ?
Duke. There is a lady in Milano? here,
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words.
1 in his cloak : not in f. e. 2 a lady, sir, in Milan here : in f. e.
is no man,
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometime scorns what best contents
Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends
Val. 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.
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,
Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
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?
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!
(Ladder and letter fall out. 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 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. Begone: I will not hear thy vain excuse; But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
[Exit DUKE. Val. 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 ?
1 This direction is not in f. e.