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But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than fwifteft 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 felf:
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excufe,

But as thou lov'ft thy life, make fpeed from hence, [Exit.

Val. And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from my felf,
And Silvia is my felf; banish'd from her
Is felf from felf: a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not feen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that fhe is by,
And feed upon the fhadow 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, cherifh'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. So-ho! fo-ho!-

Pro. What feest 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. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing fpeak? mafter, fhall I ftrike?
Pro, Whom wouldst thou ftrike?


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Laun. Nothing..

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing, I pray you,
3 Pro. 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 filence 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's a proclamation you are vanifh'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 excefs of it will make me furfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?


Pro. Ay, ay; and the hath offered to the doom,
Which unrevers'd ftands in effectual force,
A fea of melting pearl, which fome call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet the 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 fighs, deep groans, nor filver-fhedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate fire;
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,

Val. No more, unless the next word that thou speak'st
Have fome malignant power upon my life;
If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,"
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

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Pro. Ceafe to lament for that thou canst not help,
And ftudy help for that which thou lament'ft,
Time is the nurfe and breeder of all good:
Here if thou stay, thou canst not fee thy love;
Befides, thy ftaying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's ftaff, walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, tho' thou art hence,
Which being writ to me, fhall be deliver'd
Ev'n in the milk-white bofom of thy love.
The time now ferves not to expoftulate;
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't Silvia, tho' not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

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Val. I pray thee, Launce, and if thou feeft 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!



Laun. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my mafter is a kind of a knave: but that's all one, if he be but one kind of 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 what woman I will not tell my felf; and yet 'tis a milk-maid; yet 'tis not a maid, for the hath had goffips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her mafter's maid and ferves for wages: fhe hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel, which is much in a bare chriftian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions; imprimis, fhe can fetch and carry; why, a horfe can do no more, nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore fhe is better than a jade. Item, fhe can milk; look you, a fweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed..

Speed. How now, fignior Launce? what news with your maftership?


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Laun. With my master's fhip? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; mistake the word: what news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackeft news that ever thou heard'st.
Speed. Why, man, how black?
Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fie on thee, folthead, thou can'st not read.
Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the son of my grand-father.
loiterer, it was the fon of thy grand-

Laun. O illitera that thou canst not read."

mother; this

Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper.
Laun. There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed!
Speed. Imprimis, the can milk.
Laun. Ay, that the can.
Speed. Item, the brews good ale.

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, Bleffing of your

beart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, the can fowe.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, can she fo?

Speed. Item, the can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a ftock with a wench, when the can knit him a stock!

Speed. Item, the can wash and fcour.

Laun. A fpecial virtue, for then the need not to be

wafh'd and fcour'd.

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Speed. Item, the can fpin.

Laun. Then may I fet the world on wheels, when the can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, the hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay Baftard Virtues, that indeed know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. Speed. Here follow her vices.

Laun. Clofe at the heels of her virtues.

Speed. Item, fhe is not to be kist fafting, in respect of her breath.


Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfaft: read on,




Speed. Item, the hath a sweet mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her four breath.
Speed. Item, the doth talk in her fleep.
Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.
Speed. Item, fhe is flow in words.

Laun. Oh villain! that set down among her vices! to be flow in words is a woman's only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue.

Speed. Item, fhe is proud.

Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.

Speed. Item, the hath no teeth.

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crufts.
Speed, Item, fhe is curst.

Laun. Well; the beft is, fhe hath no teeth to bite.
Speed. Item, the will often praife her liquor.

Laun. If her liquor be good, the fhall; if the will not, I will, for good things fhould be praised.

Speed. Item, fhe is too liberal."

Laun. Of her tongue fhe cannot, for that's writ down fhe is flow of; of her purfe the fhall not, for that I'll keep fhut; now of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

Speed. Item, fhe hath more hairs than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her; fhe was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that article. Rehearse that

once more.

Speed. Item, the hath more hair than wit.

Laun. More hair than wit; it may be I'll prove it: the cover of the falt hides the falt, and therefore it is more than the falt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit; for the greater hides the lefs. What's next? Speed. And more faults than hairs.

Laun. That's monftrous: oh that that were out!
Speed. And more wealth than faults.

Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gracious: well, I'll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is impoffible

Speed. What then?


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