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Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

Val. A woman sometime scorns what belt contents her:
Send her another ; never give her o'er;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If the do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away :
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ;
Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, 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 severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, 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 so shelving, 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 scale 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 such 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 sevei. o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But hark thee; I will go to her alone ; How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

Val. It will be light; my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak, that is of any length. 2 What lets,] i. e. what hinders. STEEVENS.

Duke.

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Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak;
I'll get me one of such another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.-
What letter is this same? What's here !--T. Silvia ??
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be so bold to break the seal for opce.

[readía My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;

And saves they are to me, that send them flying : 0, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My berald thoughts in thy pure bosom reft i hem;

While I, their king, that thither them impórtune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace bath bless'd them,

Because myself do want my fervants' fortune :
I curse myself, for they are sent by me 4,
That they should barbour where their lord should be.
What's here?
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee :
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaëton, (for thou art Merops' son ,)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee??
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave !
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think, my patience, more than thy desert,

3 My berald thoughts in tby pure bosom &c.] i. c. the thoughts core tained in my letter. See p. 151, n. 9. MALONE.

4 - for they are sent--] For is the same as for that, since. JOHNSON. 5 -- Merops' son,) ] Thou art Phaëton in thy ralhness, but without His pretenfions ; thou art not the fon of a divinity, but a terræ filius, a low-born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaeton was taltely reproached. JOHNSON.

This serap of mythology Shakspeare might have found in the spurions play of K. Jobr, 1591 :

as fometime Phactor,
“ Miftrusting filly Merops for his fire." STEIVINS,

Is privilege for thy departure hence :
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee,
But if thou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be

gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lov'it 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 ! 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 essence ; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'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 Ay away from life.

Enter ProTHEUS and LAUNCE,
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out,
Launce. So-ho! so-ho!
Pro. What fee'st thou ?

6 And feed upon the shadow of perfection.]

Animum pictura pascit inani. Virg. HENLEY. ?! Hy not death, to fly bis deadly doom:] T. Ay bis doom, used for by flying, or in Hying, is a gallicism. The sense is, By avoiding the execution of his sentence i thall not escape death, if I stay here, I Luffer myself to be destroyed ; if I go away, I destroy myself. JOHNSON

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Launcea

Launce. 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.
Launce. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?
Pro. Whom 8 would't thou strike?
Launce. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear.
Launce. Why, fir, 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,
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead?
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 ?

Launce. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanishd.

Pro. That thou art banish'd, O, that is 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. Doth Silvia know that I am banished ?

Pro. Ay, ay; and the 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 fo became them,

* There's not a bair-) Launce is fill quibbling. He is now running down the bare that he started when he entered. MALONE. • Whom-] Old Copy-Wbo. Corrected in the second fulio, MALONE.

As

As if but now they waxed pale for woe:
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-Shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate fire ;
But Valentine, if he be ta’en, must die.
Besides, her interceflion chafed him so,
When the for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Val. No more; unless the next word, that thou speak'ft,
Have fome malignant power upon my life:
If so, I 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, thall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love,
The time now serves 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’ft Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou feelt my boy,

9 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.] So, in Hamlet :

“ These ro ber excellent wbite bojom, &c." Trilling as the remark may appear, before the meaning of this address of letters to the bofom of a mistress can be understood, it should be known that women anciently had a pocket in the fore part of their ftays, 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 the remembers when it was the fathion to wear very prominent stays, it was no less the custom for stratagem or gallantry to drop its literary favours within the front of them. STEEVENS.

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