Val. Ay, my good lord. Then let me see thy cloak: I'll get me one of such another length. I Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.— What letter is this same? What 's here?" To Silvia"? [Reads. "My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. 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:" "T is so; and here 's the ladder for the purpose. Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, Be gone; [Exit DUKE. Val. And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Pro. What seest thou? Laun. Him we go to find: There's not a hair on 's head, but 't is a Valentine. Laun. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? Pro. Who wouldst thou strike? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,— Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear: Friend Valentine, a word. 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, 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 is a proclamation that you are vanished. 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. Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Val. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st VOL. I. E Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour. Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help. And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying 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, though thou art hence: Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love." The time now serves not to expostulate: 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 lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an 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! [Exeunt 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 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 't is I love, and yet 't is a woman: but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 't is a milkmaid; yet 't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips: yet 't is a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The lady of the sixteenth century had a small pocket in the front of her stays, in which she carried her letters, and other matters which she valued. wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel,--which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the catelog [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. Enter SPEED. 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. Why, as black as ink. Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read. 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 St. Nicholas be thy speed! Speed. Imprimis, "She can milk.” Laun. Ay, that she can. Speed. Item, "She brews good ale." Laun. And thereof comes the proverb,-Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, "She can sew." Laun. That 's as much as to say, can she so? Speed. Item, "She can knit." Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock?" Stock-stocking. |