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. Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: 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, 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 torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self: a deadly banishment! 2 since. for they are sent by me,] For is the same as for that, 3Merops' son,] Thou art Phaeton in thy rashness, but without his pretensions; thou art not the son of a divinity, but a terræ filius, a low-born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaeton was falsely reproached. JOHNSON. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 4 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 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom would'st thou strike? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. 4 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:] To fly his doom, used for by flying, or in flying, is a Gallicism. The sense is, by avoiding the execution of his sentence I shall not escape death. If I stay here, I suffer myself to be destroyed; If I go away, I de stroy myself. JOHNSON. 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. 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. 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: With many bitter threats of 'biding there. Val. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st, Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, Pro. Cease to lament for that thou can'st not help, 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. 5 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.] Trifling as the remark may appear, before the meaning of this address of letters to the bosom of a mistress can be understood, it should be known that women anciently had a pocket in the fore part of their stays, in which they not only carried love-letters and love-tokens, but even their money and materials for needle-work. In many parts of England the rustic damsels still observe the same practice; and a very old lady informs me that she remembers, when it was the fashion to wear prominent stays, it was no less the custom for stratagem and gallantry to drop its literary favours within the front of them. STEEVENS. you; and yet Laun. I am but a fool, look 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 woman: but that woman I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips :7 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. 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. 6 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.] In Shakspeare's language, one knave may signify a knave on only one occasion, a single knave. We still use a double villain, for a villain beyond the common rate of guilt. JOHNSON. 7for she hath had gossips:] Gossips not only signify those who answer for a child in baptism, but the tattling women who attend lyings-in. 8 a bare christian.] Launce is quibbling on. Bare has two senses; mere and naked. This is used here in both. 9 her conditions.] i. e. qualities. |