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 wash'd and scour'd.

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 moi th."

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 slip 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. "And more faults than hairs,"

Launce. That's monstrous: O, that that were out! Speed. "And more wealth than faults."

Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible,

Speed. What then?

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,—that thy master stays for thee at the north-gate.

Speed. For me?

Launce. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath stay'd for a better man than thee.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love-letters! [Exit, running.1 Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction.

[Exit.

SCENE II The Same. An Apartment in the

DUKE'S Palace.

Enter DUKE and THURIO.

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.

1 running: not in f. e.

Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most;
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.-
Enter PROTEUS.

How now, sir Proteus ! Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?
Pro. Gone, my good lord.

Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously.
Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou hast shown sure' sign of good desert)
Makes me the better to confer with thee.

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace,
Let me not live to look upon your grace.

Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. Pro. I do, my lord.

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will.

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; Three things that women highly hold in hate. Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate.

Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it :

Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.

Duke. Then, you must undertake to slander him. Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: 'T is an ill office for a gentleman,

Especially, against his very friend.

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your slander never can endamage him:

1 some in f. e.

Therefore, the office is indifferent,

Being entreated to it by your friend.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord. If I can do it,
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.

But say, this wean' her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio.

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, Lest it should ravel and be good to none,

You must provide to bottom it on me;

Which must be done, by praising me as much

As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine.

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, Because we know, on Valentine's report,

You are already love's firm votary,

And cannot soon revolt, and change your mind.
Upon this warrant shall you have access
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
And for your friend's sake will be glad of you,
When you may temper her, by your persuasion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend.
Pro. As much as I can do I will effect.
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
You must lay lime to tangle her desires
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.

Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart.
Write, till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover strict integrity:

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,

Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans

Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

After your dire-lamenting elegies,

Visit by night your lady's chamber window

With some sweet consort: to their instruments

Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence

Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

1 weed: in f. e.

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.
Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice.
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently,

To sort some gentlemen well-skill'd in music.
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn

To give the onset to thy good advice.

Duke. About it, gentlemen.

Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings.

Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—A Forest, between Milan and Verona. Enter certain Outlaws.

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast: I see a passenger. 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED.

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about

you;

If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.

Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much.

Val. My friends,—

1 Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies.

2 Out. Peace! we'll hear him.

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper

man.

Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose.

A man I am cross'd with adversity:

My riches are these poor habiliments,

Of which if you should here disfurnish me,

You take the sum and substance that I have. 2 Out. Whither travel you?

Val. To Verona.

1 Out. Whence came you?

Val. From Milan.

3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there?

Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might have stay'd,

If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

VOL. I.-10