Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly ear, Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 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, Foftered, illumined, cherished, kept alive. [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. Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom, Val. No more; unless the next word that thou fpeakest,. Have fome malignant power upon my life: Pro. Ceafe to lament for that thou canft not help, As thou loveft Silvia, though not for thyfelf, 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. Laun. Fy on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read. 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. |