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Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly ear,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach ftars, because they fhine on thee?
Go, bafe intruder! overweening flave!
Beftow thy fawning fmiles on equal mates;
And think my patience, more than thy defert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence:

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have beftowed on thee.
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than fwifteft expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By Heaven my wrath fhall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter or thy felf:

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excufe,

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

[Exit.

Val. And why not death, rather than living tor

To die, is to be banished from myself:

And Silvia is myself; banifhed from her,
Is felf from felf; a deadly banishment !
What light is light, if Silvia be not feen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that he is by,
And feed upon the fhadow of perfection
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufic in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon i
She is my effence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence

Foftered, illumined, cherished, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom;
Tarry I here, I but attend on death:
But йy I hence, I fly away from life.

[ment?

Enter PROTHEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and feek him out.

Laun. So-ho! fo-ho!.

Pro. What feeft thou?

Laun. Him we go to find;

There's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine !.

Val. No.

Pro. Who then; his fpirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak, master? fhall I strike? Pro. Whom wouldeft thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing; I pray you-Pro. I fay, forbear: friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath poffefs'd them. Pro. Then in dumb filence will I bury mine; For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for facred Silvia ! Hath fhe forfworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forfworn me! What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanished.

Pro. That thou art banished; oh, that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already;

VOL. IV.

E

And now excefs of it will make me furfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banifhed?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom,
Which unreverfed ftands in effectual force,
A fea of melting pearl, which fome call tears;
Thofe at her father's churlifh feet fhe tendered;
With them, upon her knees, her humble self,
Wringing her hands,whosewhiteness so became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe.
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad fighs, deep groans, nor filver-fhedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate Sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Befides, her interceffion chafed him so,
When the for thy repeal was fuppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of biding there.

Val. No more; unless the next word that thou fpeakest,.

Have fome malignant power upon my life:
If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro. Ceafe to lament for that thou canft not help,
And study help for that which thou lamenteft.
Time is the nurfe and breeder of all good:
Here if thou ftay, thou canst not fee thy love;
Befides, thy ftaying 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, tho' thou art hence,
Which being writ to me, fhall be delivered
Even in the milk-white bofom of thy love.
The time now ferves not to expoftulate;
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 loveft Silvia, though not for thyfelf,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou feeft my boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the north gate. Pro. Go, firrah, find him out: come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia hapless Valentine!

[Exeunt Val. and Pro. Laun. 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 milk-maid; yet 'tis not a maid, for the hath had goffips; yet 'tis a maid, for fhe is her master's maid, and ferves for wages; she hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel, which is much in a bare Chriftian. Here is the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, the can fetch and carry; why a horfe can do no more; nay a horfe cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is the better than a jade. Item, the can milk: look you, a fweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter SPEED.

Speed. How now, Signior Launce? what news with your mastership?

Laun. With my master's fhip? why, it is at fea. (12)

(12) With my mastership? why, it is at fea.] These poetical editors are "pleatant gentlemen to let this pafs without any fufpicion. For how does Launce miftake the word? Speed afke him about his masterfhip, and he replies to it litteratim. But then how was his mastership at fea, and on fhore too? The addition of a letter and a note of apoftrophie make Launce both mistake the word, and fets the pun right: it reftores, indeed, but a mean joke; but, without it, there is

Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; miftake the word; what news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heardeft.
Speed. Why, man, how black?
Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fy on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?

Speed. Marry, the fon of my grandfather. -

Laun. O illiterate loiterer, it was the fon of thy grandmother; this proves that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper. Laun. There, and St Nicholas be thy speed! Speed. Imprimis, she can milk.

Laun. Ay, that she can..

Speed. Item, fhe brews good ale..

Laun, And thereof comes the proverb, Bleing

of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, fhe can fowe.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, can she fo?

Speed. Item, fhe can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a.

wench, when he can knit him a stock?

Speed. Item, the can wash and fcour.

Laun. A fpecial virtue, for then the need not be wafhed and fcoured.

Speed. Item, fhe can fpin..

Laun. Then may I fet the world on wheels, when fhe can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, the hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, baftard, virtues ;

no fenfe in the paffage. Befides, it is in character with the 1eft of the fcene; and I dare be confident, the Poet's own conceit.

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