Where you may temper her, by your Perfuafion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my Friend.
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 Defires
By wailful Sonnets, whofe compofed Rhimes
Should be full fraught with serviceable Vows.
Duke. Ay, much is the Force of Heav'n-bred Poefie.
Pro. Say, that upon the Altar of her Beauty
You facrifice your Tears, your Sighs, your Heart:
Write 'till your Ink be dry, and with your Tears
Moift it again, and frame fome feeling Line
That may difcover fuch Integrity:

For Orpheus Lute was ftrung with Poets Sinews,
Whofe golden Touch could foften Steel and Stones,
Make Tygers tame, and huge Leviathans

Forfake unfounded Deeps, and dance on Sands.
After your dire-lamenting Elegies,

Vifit by Night your Lady's Chamber-Window
With fome fweet Confort: To their Inftruments
Tune a deploring Dump; the Night's dead Silence
Will well become fuch fweet complaining Grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

Duke. This Difcipline fhews thou haft been in Love. Thu. And thy Advice this Night I'll put in practice; Therefore fweet Protheus, my Direction-giver,

Let us into the City presently

To fort fome Gentlemen well skill'd in Mufick;
I have a Sonnet that will ferve the turn

To give the Onfet to thy good Advice.

Duke. About it Gentlemen..

Pro. We'll wait upon your Grace 'till after Supper, And afterwards determine our Proceedings.

Duke. Even now about it. I will pardon you. [Exeunt.

I now am full refolv'd to take a Wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her Beauty be her Wedding-Dowre;
For me and my Poffeffions fhe esteems not.

Val. What would your Grace have me to do in this?
Duke. There is a Lady in Verona here
Whom I affect; but the is nice and coy,
And nought efteems my aged Eloquence:
Now therefore would I have thee to my Tutor,
For long agone I have forgot to Court;
Befides, the Fashion of the Time is chang'd,
How, and which way I may bestow my
felf,
To be regarded in her Sun-bright Eye.

Val. Win her with Gifts, if the refpects not Words; Dumb Jewels often in their filent kind,

More than quick Words, do move a Woman's Mind.
Duke. But fhe did fcorn a Present that I fent her.

Val. A Woman fometimes fcorns what beft contents her; Send her another; never give her o'er;

For Scorn at firft makes After-love the more.

If fhe do frown, 'tis not in hate of

you,
But rather to beget more Love in you:
If fhe do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
For why, the Fools are mad if left alone.
Take no Repulfe, whatever fhe doth say;
For, Get you gone, fhe doth not mean away:
Flatter, and praife, commend, extol their Graces;
Tho' ne'er fo black, fay they have Angels Faces.
That Man that hath a Tongue, I fay, is no Man,
If with his Tongue he cannot win a Woman.

Duke. But the, I mean, is promis'd by her Friends
Unto a youthful Gentleman of worth,

And kept feverely from Refort of Men,

That no Man hath Accefs by Day to her.

Val. Why then I would refort to her by Night. Duke. Ay, but the Doors be lockt, and Keys kept fafe, That no Man hath Recourse to her by Night.

Val. What lets but one may enter at her Window? Duke. Her Chamber is aloft far from the Ground, And built fo fhelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his Life.

Val. Why then a Ladder quaintly made of Cords,
To caft up, with a pair of anchoring Hooks,
Would serve to fcale another Hero's Tower,

So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now as thou art a Gentleman of Blood,
Advise me where I may have fuch a Ladder.

Val. When would you use it? pray Sir, tell me that.
Duke. This very Night; for Love is like a Child
That longs for every thing that he can come by.
Val. By feven a Clock I'll get you fuch a Ladder.
Duke. But hark thee: I will go to her alone;
How shall I beft convey the Ladder thither?

Val. It will be light, my Lord, that you may bear it
Under a Cloak that is of any length.

Duke. A Cloak as long as thine will ferve the turn?
Val. Ay, my good Lord.

Duke. Then let me fee thy Cloak;

I'll get me one of fuch another length.

Val. Why any Cloak will ferve the turn, my Lord.
Duke. How fhall I fashion me to wear a Cloak?

I pray thee let me feel thy Cloak upon me.
What Letter is this fame? what's here? to Silvia?
And here an Engine fit for my Proceeding?
I'll be fo bold to break the Seal for once.

[Duke Reads.

My Thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,
And Slaves they are to me that fend them flying:
Oh, could their Mafter come, and go as lightly,
Himself would lodge where, fenfeless, they are lying.
My Herald Thoughts in thy pure Bofom reft them,
While I, their King, that thither them importune,
Do curfe the Grace that with fuch Grace hath bleft them,
Because my felf do want my Servants Fortune:
I curfe my felf, for they are fent by me,

That they should harbour where their Lord would be.

What's here? Silvia, this Night will I infranchise thee: 'Tis fo; and here's the Ladder for the Purpose.

Why Phaeton, for thou art Merop's Son,

Wilt thou aspire to guide the heav'nly Car?
And with thy daring Folly burn the World?

Wilt thou reach Stars, because they shine on thee? t

Go,

Go, bafe Intruder, over-weening Slave,
Bestow thy fawning Smiles on equal Mates,
And think my Patience, more than thy Defert,
Is Privilege for thy Departure hence:

Thank me for this, more than for all the Favours
Which, all too much, I have beftowed on thee.
But if thou linger in my Territories
Longer than fwiftest Expedition

Will give thee time to leave our Royal Court,
By Heav'n, my Wrath fhall far exceed the Love
I ever bore my Daughter, or thy self:

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain Excufe,

But as thou lov'ft thy Life, make speed from hence. [Exit.
Val. And why not Death, rather than living Torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from my self,

And Silvia is my felf; banish'd from her
Is felf from felf: A deadly Banifhment!
What Light is Light, if Silvia be not seen?
What Joy is Joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the Shadow of Perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the Night,
There is no Mufick in the Nightingale:
Unless I look on Silvia in the Day,
There is no Day for me to look upon:
She is my Effence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair Influence
Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not Death to fly his deadly Doom;
Tarry I here, I but attend on Death;
But fly I hence, I fly away from Life.
Enter Protheus and Launce.

Pro. Run, Boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. Soa-hough, Soa-hough-

Pro. What feeft thou?

Laun. Him we go to find:

There's not an Hair on's Head but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his Spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? Mafter, fhall I ftrike?
Pro. Whom wouldft thou ftrike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing; I pray you. Pro. Sirrah, I fay, forbear: Friend Valentine, a Word. Val. My Ears are ftopt, and cannot hear good News, So much of bad already hath poffeft them.

Pro. Then in dumb Silence will I bury mine; For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine indeed, for facred Silvia: Hath fhe forfworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forfworn me: What is your News?

Laun. Sir, there is a Proclamation that you are vanished. Pro. That thou art banifh'd; oh that's the News, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy Friend.

Val. Oh, I have fed upon this Wo already;

And now Excess of it will make me furfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd?

Pro. Ay, Ay; and she hath offered to the Doom,
Which unrevers'd ftands in effectual Force,
A Sea of melting Pearl, which fome call Tears:
Thofe at her Father's churlifh Feet fhe tender'd,
With them upon her Knees, her humble felf,
Wringing her Hands, whofe Whitenefs fo became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for Wo.
But neither bended Knees, pure Hands held up,
Sad Sighs, deep Groans, nor filver-fhedding Tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate Sire;

But Valentine, if he be ta'en, muft die.
Befides, her Interceffion chaf'd him fo,
When the for thy Repeal was fuppliant,
That to close Prifon he commanded her,
With many bitter Threats of biding there.
VOL. I.

H

Val.