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A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And banish'd Valentine shall be forgot.

Enter PROTEUS, L.

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 much sign of good desert),
Makes me the readier to confer with thee.

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your trust,
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, while Valentine was here.
Duke. Ay, and she perseveres perversely so:
What might we do, to make the girl forget
This outcast Valentine, and smile on Thurio?
Pro. The best way were, to insinuate Valentine
Of falsehood, and of such disparagements,
As we see women hold in most disdain.

Duke, Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate.
Pro. Yes, if his enemy deliver it:

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

Duke. Then you, Sir Proteus, must undertake it.
Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do:
"Tis 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;

Therefore, the office is indifferent,

Being entreated to it by your friend.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord: if I can do it,

She shall not long hold out affection to him:

But, for this purpose, I must have access

To Silvia; who, if my advice may sway you,

Should straight be enfranchis'd from her close confinement:

For 'tis a verity of daily proof,

That love in youthful hearts takes fastest root,
When stern authority would tear it thence,
And force still leads to cureless obstinacy.

Yet, say that this estrange her heart from Valentine, It follows not she shall affect 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. Good Proteus, you are fram'd for this employ ; For well we know, on Valentine's report,

You are already love's firm votary;

Therefore most fit to plead Sir Thurio's suit.

Her limit of confine we will extend,

And on our warrant shall you have access,
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
For she is pensive, heavy, melancholy,
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you :
You thus may temper her by your persuasion,
And mould her stubborn humour to our liking.
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 the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Thu. If rhymes will do, my muse shall be invok'd
To paint her beauties fairer than the morn:
I can write sonnets, sir, and set them too;
Ay, and can sing them with the best in Milan.

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 such 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 concert; 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.

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. [Crosses, c.] We'll wait upon your grace till after supper;

And afterwards determine our proecedings.

Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you.
Thu. Come, come, Sir Proteus.

[Exeunt Duke, R., Thurio and Proteus, L.

END OF ACT III.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-A Garden, and Silvia's Apartments in the Duke's Palace, in Milan.-Stage rather dark.

Enter PROTEUS, L. U. E.

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her,

She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
She bids me think how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia, whom I lov'a :
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips,
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still.

[Thurio and Musicians without, L. v. E. Thu. This way, this way; follow me.

Pro. But here comes Thurio :-now must we to her

window,

And give some early music to her ear.

Enter THURIO and Musicians, L. U. E.

Thu. How now, Sir Proteus? Are you crept before us?
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Thu. Whom? Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia,-for your sake.

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

Enter, at a distance, Host, and JULIA in boy's clothes, L. U. B

Host. Now, my young guest! methinks, you're allycholly I pray you, why is it?

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman that you asked for.

Jul. But shall I hear him speak?
Host. Ay, that you shall.

Jul. That will be music.

Host. Hark! hark!

Jul. Is he among these?

Host. Ay but peace,-let's hear 'em.

QUINTETTO.

Who is Silvia? What is she,

[Music plays.

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

Host. How now? You are sadder than you were before. How do you, man? the music likes you not. Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not. Host. Why, my pretty youth?

Jul. He plays false, father.

Host. How? out of tune on the strings?

Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.

Host. I perceive you delight not in music.

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.

[Proteus and Thurio take leave of each other, L.

Peace! stand aside! the company parts.

[Julia and Host retire (L.)—the Host sits down, and presently falls asleep.

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you! I will so plead, That you shall say my cunning drift excels.

Thu. Where meet we?

Pro. At Saint Gregory's fount.

Thu. Farewell.-Come, friend.

[Exeunt Thurio and Musicians, L. U. E.

SILVIA appears above, at a Balcony, R.

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.
Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship.
Sil. Who is that that spake ?

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Sil. What is your will?

Pro. That I may compass yours.

Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this,— That presently you hie you home to bed.

[Going, R. Pro. O, lovely Silvia, by yon chaste-eyed moon,Sil. Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy false flatteries, That hast deceived so many with thy oaths? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request, That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit; And, by and by, intend to chide myself, Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant, sweet Silvia, I did woo a lady; But she is dead.

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