Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest ?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end.

Val. I would it were no worse!

Speed. I'll warrant you, 't is as well: For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,

Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.

All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, sir? 't is dinner time.

Val. I have dined.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O! be not like your mistress: be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Verona. A Room in JULIA's House.

Enter PROTEUS and JULIA.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.

Jul. I must, where is no remedy.

Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.1 Pro. Why then, we'll make exchange: here, take you this. [Exchange rings." Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. My father stays my coming; answer not. The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; 1 giving a ring is added in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. VOL. I.-8

That tide will stay me longer than I should. [Exit JULIA.
Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak ;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Enter PANTHINO.

Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.
Go; I come,

Pro.
I come.-
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Street.

Enter LAUNCE, leading his1 Dog.

Launce. Nay, 't will be this hour ere I have done weeping: all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourestnatured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog; a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting: why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; -no, this left shoe is my father;-no, no, this left shoe is my mother-nay, that cannot be so, neither :—yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on 't! there 't is now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog;-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,-O! the dog is me, and I am myself: ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; "Father, your blessing" now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wild' woman-well, I kiss her; why there 't is ; here's my mother's breath, up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now, the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word, but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

1 a Dog: in f. e. 2 in f. e: wood (i. e. mad).

Enter PANTHINO.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

Launce. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou 'lt lose the flood; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth?'

Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant. Where should I lose my tongue?

Launce. In thy tale.

Pant. In thy tail?

Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide. Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call thee.

Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.

Pant. Wilt thou go?

Launce. Well, I will go.

SCENE IV.-Milan.

[Exeunt.

A Room in the DUKE's Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED.

Sil. Servant.

Val. Mistress.

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.

Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.

Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress, then.

Speed. 'T were good you knock'd him.

Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Thu. Seem you that you are not?

Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

8

Thu. What seem I that I am not?

Val. Wise.

Thu. What instance of the contrary?

Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote1 you my folly ?

Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well, then, 't will2 double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour? Val. Give him leave, madam: he is a kind of cameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

Val. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you begin.

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Val. 'T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil. Who is that, servant?

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. father.

Enter the DUKE.

Here comes my

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:

What say you to a letter from your friends

Of much good news?

Val.

My lord, I will be thankful

To any happy messenger from thence.

Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman

To be of wealth and worthy estimation,

1 Note or observe. 2 I'll in f. e. 3 worth in f. e.

And not without desert so well reputed.

Duke. Hath he not a son?

Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father.

Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd, and spent our hours together: And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that 's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days:
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow)
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love,

As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.

Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
With commendation from great potentates;

And here he means to spend his time a-while.

I think, 't is no unwelcome news to you.

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. Silvia, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio:— For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it. I'll send him hither to you presently.

[Exit DUKE. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,

How could he see his way to seek you out?

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Upon a homely object love can wink.