Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after thee: No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.— Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition.

[Exeunt ANT. and PANT.

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning; And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd:

I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter,
Lest he should take exceptions to my love;
And with the 'vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, how this spring of love resembleth

Th' uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!
Re-enter PANTHINO.

Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;

He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go.

Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto;

And yet a thousand times it answers, No.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Milan. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED.

SIR, your glove.

Speed.

Val. Not mine; my gloves are on.

Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but one. Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine :Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!

Ah Silvia! Silvia !

Speed. Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!

Val. How now,

sirrah?

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her?

Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.

Val. Well, you'll still be too forward.

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia ? Speed. She that your worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love?

Speed. Marry, by these special marks: First, you have

learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A. B. C.; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas.' You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.

Val. Are all these things perceived in me?
Speed. They are all perceived without you.
Val. Without me? they cannot.

Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you were so simple, none else would but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady.

Val. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

?

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not?

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir?

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.

Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favoured Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count.

[3] This is about the feast of All-Saints, when winter begins, and the life of a vagrant becomes less comfortable. JOHNSON.

It is worth remarking that on All-Saint's-Day the poor people in Staffordshire, and perhaps in other country places, go from parish to parish, a souling as they call it; i. e. begging and puling (or singing small, as Bailey's Dictionary explains puling) for soul-cakes, or any good thing to make them merry. This custom is mentioned by Peck, and seems a remnant of Popish superstition to pray for departed souls, particularly those of friends. TOLLET.

Val. How painted? and how out of count?

Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.

Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her beauty.
Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.
Val. How long hath she been deformed?

Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful.

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.

Val. Why?

Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your own had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going ungartered! Val. What should I see then?

:

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

Speed. I would you were set; so, your affection would

cease.

Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves.

Speed. And have you?

Val. I have.

Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them :-Peace, here she comes.

Enter SILVIA.

Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her.

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows. Speed. O, give you good even! here's a million of

manners.

[Aside.

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter,
VOL. I.

17

Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your ladyship.

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For, being ignorant to whom it goes,

I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much:

And yet,

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; And yet I will not name it :—and yet I care not ;— And yet take this again;—and yet I thank you; Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Aside. Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: But since unwillingly, take them again; Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request; But I will none of them; they are for you:

I would have had them writ more movingly.

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over
And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour;
And so good-morrow, servant.

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

[Exit SIL.

As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple ! My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,

He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

O excellent device! was there ever heard a better?

That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the

letter?

Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the

reason.

Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.
Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she woes you by a figure.
Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did you perceive her earnest ?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.

Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end.

Val. I would it were no worse.

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:

For often you have writ to her; and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind dis-

cover,

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
All this I speak in print ; for in print I found it.—
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time.

Val. I have dined.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the chamelion Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat: O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Verona. A room in JULIA's house.

Enter PROTEUS and

JULIA.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.

Jul. I must, where is no remedy.

Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.

Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner:

Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

[Giving a ring.

Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you

this.

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.