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There is no musick in the nightingale ;
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good
news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them.
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
Val. Is Silvia dead?
Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! -
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 banish'd, oh, that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend..
Val. Oh, 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 hath 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
them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe : But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 230 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou see'st my boy,
Val. O my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine! 260
[Exeunt VALENTINE, and PROTHEUS. 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 Lam in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I luve, 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 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 carry: 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 witha
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'sta Speed. Why, man, how black ?
Laun. Why, as black, as ink. Speed. Let me read them.
Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head ; thou canst not read.
Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother : this proves, that thou canst not read.
Laun. And therefore comes the proverb-Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.
Speed. Item, She can sew.
Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock.
Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.
Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need not to be wash'd and scour'd.
Speed. Item, She can spin.
Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.
310 Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues.
Laun. That's as much as to say, Bastard virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.