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What letter is this same? What's here To Silvia ?
And slaves they are to me, that send them fying: 0, 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 thitherthemimpórtune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd
them, Because myself do want my servants' 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. Be gove, 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 tor.
To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
Enter Proteus and Launce.
Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
news, So much of bad already hath possess’d them,
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untunable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead ? Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! Hath she forsworn me?
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!What is your news ? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are
vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished ?
Pro. Ay, ay; and she bath offer'd to the doom (Which, unrevers’d, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became
Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
And study help for that which thou lament'st.
Val. I pray thee, Launce, ap if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate.
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!
[Ereunt Valentine and Proteus. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of 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 womad : but that woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk.maid: yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips: yet'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel,-which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cat-log (pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and curry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.
Speed. How now, Signior Launce?. what news with your mastership?
Laun With my master's ship? why, it is at sea.
Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word : what news then in your paper?
Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.
Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou liest, I can.
Laun. I will try thee: tell me this: who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read.
Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. Laun. There; and Saint Nicholas* be thy speed ! Speed. Item, She brews good ale.
Laun. And thereof comes the proverb -Bless ing of your heart, you brew good ale.
Speed. Item, She can sew,
Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a vench, when she cau knit him a stock?
Specd. Item, She can wash and scour.
Laun. A special virtue; for then she need not be washed and scoured.
Speed. Item, She can spin.
Laur. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.
Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues.
* St. Nicholas presided over young scholars.