Enter MARIA and Clown

Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard;
make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate: do
it quickly; I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.
Exit

Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself
in't; and I would I were the first that ever
dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to
become the function well, nor lean enough to be
thought a good student; but to be said an honest man
and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a
careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA

Jove bless thee, master Parson.

Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for, as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 'That that is is;'
so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for,
what is 'that' but 'that,' and 'is' but 'is'?

To him, Sir Topas.

What, ho, I say! peace in this prison!

The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.

[Within] Who calls there?

Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatic.

Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.

Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man!
talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

Well said, Master Parson.

Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: good Sir
Topas, do not think I am mad: they have laid me
here in hideous darkness.

Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most
modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones
that will use the devil himself with courtesy:
sayest thou that house is dark?

As hell, Sir Topas.

Why it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clearstores toward the south north are as
lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of
obstruction?

I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, this house is dark.

Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness
but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than
the Egyptians in their fog.

I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though
ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there
was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you
are: make the trial of it in any constant question.

What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

What thinkest thou of his opinion?

I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness:
thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will
allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

Sir Topas, Sir Topas!

My most exquisite Sir Topas!

Nay, I am for all waters.

Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and
gown: he sees thee not.

To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how
thou findest him: I would we were well rid of this
knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I
would he were, for I am now so far in offence with
my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this
sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA

[Singing]
'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does.'

Fool!

'My lady is unkind, perdy.'

Fool!

'Alas, why is she so?'

Fool, I say!

'She loves another'--Who calls, ha?

Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my
hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink and paper:
as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to
thee for't.

Master Malvolio?

Ay, good fool.

Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused: I
am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

But as well? then you are mad indeed, if you be no
better in your wits than a fool.

They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness,
send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to
face me out of my wits.

Advise you what you say; the minister is here.
Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain
bibble babble.

Sir Topas!

Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I,
sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good Sir Topas.
Merry, amen. I will, sir, I will.

Fool, fool, fool, I say!

Alas, sir, be patient. What say you sir? I am
shent for speaking to you.

Good fool, help me to some light and some paper: I
tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

Well-a-day that you were, sir

By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper and
light; and convey what I will set down to my lady:
it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing
of letter did.

I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you
not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit?

Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his
brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I
prithee, be gone.

[Singing]
I am gone, sir,
And anon, sir,
I'll be with you again,
In a trice,
Like to the old Vice,
Your need to sustain;
Who, with dagger of lath,
In his rage and his wrath,
Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
Like a mad lad,
Pare thy nails, dad;
Adieu, good man devil.
Exit

Enter SEBASTIAN

This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant:
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service;
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing
As I perceive she does: there's something in't
That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes.
Enter OLIVIA and Priest

Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. What do you say?

I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
Exeunt

Enter Clown and FABIAN

Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.

Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

Any thing.

Do not desire to see this letter.

This is, to give a dog, and in recompense desire my
dog again.
Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and Lords

Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow?

Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
for my friends.

Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

No, sir, the worse.

How can that be?

Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me;
now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by
my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself,
and by my friends, I am abused: so that,
conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives
make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for
my friends and the better for my foes.

Why, this is excellent.

By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
one of my friends.

Thou shalt not be the worse for me: there's gold.

But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
you could make it another.

O, you give me ill counsel.

Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once,
and let your flesh and blood obey it.

Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a
double-dealer: there's another.

Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old
saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex,
sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of
Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; one, two, three.

You can fool no more money out of me at this throw:
if you will let your lady know I am here to speak
with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake
my bounty further.

Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness:
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I
will awake it anon.
Exit

Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
Enter ANTONIO and Officers

That face of his I do remember well;
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war:
A bawbling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable;
With which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
That very envy and the tongue of loss
Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter?

Orsino, this is that Antonio
That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy;
And this is he that did the Tiger board,
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.

He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side;
But in conclusion put strange speech upon me:
I know not what 'twas but distraction.

Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?

Orsino, noble sir,
Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me:
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingrateful boy there by your side,
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:
His life I gave him and did thereto add
My love, without retention or restraint,
All his in dedication; for his sake
Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
Into the danger of this adverse town;
Drew to defend him when he was beset:
Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew a twenty years removed thing
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use
Not half an hour before.

How can this be?

When came he to this town?

To-day, my lord; and for three months before,
No interim, not a minute's vacancy,
Both day and night did we keep company.
Enter OLIVIA and Attendants

Here comes the countess: now heaven walks on earth.
But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness:
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.

What would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

Madam!

Gracious Olivia,--

What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,--

My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.

If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.

Still so cruel?

Still so constant, lord.

What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?

Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.

Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?--a savage jealousy
That sometimes savours nobly. But hear me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
To spite a raven's heart within a dove.

And I, most jocund, apt and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

Where goes Cesario?

After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life for tainting of my love!

Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!

Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?

Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.

Come, away!

Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

Husband!

Ay, husband: can he that deny?

Her husband, sirrah!

No, my lord, not I.

Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up;
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear'st.
Enter Priest
O, welcome, father!
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
Here to unfold, though lately we intended
To keep in darkness what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.

A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings;
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travell'd but two hours.

O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow,
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

My lord, I do protest--

O, do not swear!
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.
Enter SIR ANDREW

For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
to Sir Toby.

What's the matter?

He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby
a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your
help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for
a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.

My gentleman, Cesario?

'Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for
nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do't
by Sir Toby.

Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
You drew your sword upon me without cause;
But I bespoke you fair, and hurt you not.

If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me: I
think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and Clown
Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more:
but if he had not been in drink, he would have
tickled you othergates than he did.

How now, gentleman! how is't with you?

That's all one: has hurt me, and there's the end
on't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?

O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes
were set at eight i' the morning.

Then he's a rogue, and a passy measures panyn: I
hate a drunken rogue.

Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?

I'll help you, Sir Toby, because well be dressed together.

Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a
knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull!

Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
Exeunt Clown, FABIAN, SIR TOBY BELCH, and SIR ANDREW
Enter SEBASTIAN

I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman:
But, had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less with wit and safety.
You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
I do perceive it hath offended you:
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago.

One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
A natural perspective, that is and is not!

Antonio, O my dear Antonio!
How have the hours rack'd and tortured me,
Since I have lost thee!

Sebastian are you?

Fear'st thou that, Antonio?

How have you made division of yourself?
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

Most wonderful!

Do I stand there? I never had a brother;
Nor can there be that deity in my nature,
Of here and every where. I had a sister,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
What countryman? what name? what parentage?

Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father;
Such a Sebastian was my brother too,
So went he suited to his watery tomb:
If spirits can assume both form and suit
You come to fright us.

A spirit I am indeed;
But am in that dimension grossly clad
Which from the womb I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
And say 'Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola!'

My father had a mole upon his brow.

And so had mine.

And died that day when Viola from her birth
Had number'd thirteen years.

O, that record is lively in my soul!
He finished indeed his mortal act
That day that made my sister thirteen years.

If nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
That I am Viola: which to confirm,
I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserved to serve this noble count.
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady and this lord.

[To OLIVIA] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook:
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived,
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.

Be not amazed; right noble is his blood.
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wreck.
To VIOLA
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

And all those sayings will I overswear;
And those swearings keep as true in soul
As doth that orbed continent the fire
That severs day from night.

Give me thy hand;
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.

The captain that did bring me first on shore
Hath my maid's garments: he upon some action
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's.

He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither:
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
Re-enter Clown with a letter, and FABIAN
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah?

Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves's end as
well as a man in his case may do: has here writ a
letter to you; I should have given't you to-day
morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels,
so it skills not much when they are delivered.

Open't, and read it.

Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers
the madman.
Reads
'By the Lord, madam,'--

How now! art thou mad?

No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship
will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.

Prithee, read i' thy right wits.

So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to
read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

Read it you, sirrah.
To FABIAN

[Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the
world shall know it: though you have put me into
darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over
me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as
your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced
me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt
not but to do myself much right, or you much shame.
Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little
unthought of and speak out of my injury.
THE MADLY-USED MALVOLIO.'

Did he write this?

Ay, madam.

This savours not much of distraction.

See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.
Exit FABIAN
My lord so please you, these things further
thought on,
To think me as well a sister as a wife,
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
Here at my house and at my proper cost.

Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.
To VIOLA
Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call'd me master for so long,
Here is my hand: you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.

A sister! you are she.
Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO

Is this the madman?

Ay, my lord, this same.
How now, Malvolio!

Madam, you have done me wrong,
Notorious wrong.

Have I, Malvolio? no.

Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter.
You must not now deny it is your hand:
Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase;
Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention:
You can say none of this: well, grant it then
And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
To put on yellow stockings and to frown
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
And, acting this in an obedient hope,
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
And made the most notorious geck and gull
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.

Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Though, I confess, much like the character
But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me thou wast mad; then camest in smiling,
And in such forms which here were presupposed
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be *******:
This practise hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee;
But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.

Good madam, hear me speak,
And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceived against him: Maria writ
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance;
In recompense whereof he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd
That have on both sides pass'd.

Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Why, 'some are born great, some achieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was
one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir; but
that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.'
But do you remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such
a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagged:'
and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.
Exit

He hath been most notoriously abused.

Pursue him and entreat him to a peace:
He hath not told us of the captain yet:
When that is known and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister,
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
For so you shall be, while you are a man;
But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.
Exeunt all, except Clown

[Sings]
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, & c.
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain, & c.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, & c.
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, & c.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, & c.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, & c.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, & c.
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.
Exit

Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS

Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were't not affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein,
Even as I would when I to love begin.

Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

And on a love-book pray for my success?

Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

That's on some shallow story of deep love:
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

That's a deep story of a deeper love:
For he was more than over shoes in love.

'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.

No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

What?

To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

Love is your master, for he masters you:
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu! my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And likewise will visit thee with mine.

All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

As much to you at home! and so, farewell.
Exit

He after honour hunts, I after love:
He leaves his friends to dignify them more,
I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast ****morphosed me,
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
Enter SPEED

Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.

Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be a while away.

You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,
and I a sheep?

I do.

Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.

This proves me still a sheep.

True; and thy master a shepherd.

Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks
not me: therefore I am no sheep.

The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the
shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for
wages followest thy master; thy master for wages
follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.

Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,
a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

Nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you.

Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
carrying your letter.

You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.

From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
your lover.

But what said she?

[First nodding] Ay.

Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.

You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask
me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'

And that set together is noddy.

Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
take it for your pains.

No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

Why sir, how do you bear with me?

Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing
but the word 'noddy' for my pains.

Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?

Open your purse, that the money and the matter may
be both at once delivered.

Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,
not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:
and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your
mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as
hard as steel.

What said she? nothing?

No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To
testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned
me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your
letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.

Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore.
Exit SPEED
I must go send some better messenger:
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
Exit

Enter JULlA and LUCETTA

But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?

Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.

What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
But, were I you, he never should be mine.

What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.

What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

How now! what means this passion at his name?

Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

Then thus: of many good I think him best.

Your reason?

I have no other, but a woman's reason;
I think him so because I think him so.

And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

His little speaking shows his love but small.

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

They do not love that do not show their love.

O, they love least that let men know their love.

I would I knew his mind.

Peruse this paper, madam.

'To Julia.' Say, from whom?

That the *******s will show.

Say, say, who gave it thee?

Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it: pardon the
fault I pray.

Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth
And you an officer fit for the place.
Or else return no more into my sight.

To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

Will ye be gone?

That you may ruminate.
Exit

And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:
It were a shame to call her back again
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view!
Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that
Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.'
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse
And presently all humbled kiss the rod!
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!
My penance is to call Lucetta back
And ask remission for my folly past.
What ho! Lucetta!
Re-enter LUCETTA

What would your ladyship?

Is't near dinner-time?

I would it were,
That you might kill your stomach on your meat
And not upon your maid.

What is't that you took up so gingerly?

Nothing.

Why didst thou stoop, then?

To take a paper up that I let fall.

And is that paper nothing?

Nothing concerning me.

Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

Madam, it will not lie where it concerns
Unless it have a false interpeter.

Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.

That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.
Give me a note: your ladyship can set.

As little by such toys as may be possible.
Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' love.'

It is too heavy for so light a tune.

Heavy! belike it hath some burden then?

Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.

And why not you?

I cannot reach so high.

Let's see your song. How now, minion!

Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:
And yet methinks I do not like this tune.

You do not?

No, madam; it is too sharp.

You, minion, are too saucy.

Nay, now you are too flat
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass.

Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.

This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation!
Tears the letter
Go get you gone, and let the papers lie:
You would be fingering them, to anger me.

She makes it strange; but she would be best pleased
To be so anger'd with another letter.
Exit

Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!
O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!
I'll kiss each several paper for amends.
Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia!
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.'
Poor wounded name! my bosom as a bed
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd;
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down.
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away
Till I have found each letter in the letter,
Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock
And throw it thence into the raging sea!
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,
'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away.
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names.
Thus will I fold them one on another:
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Re-enter LUCETTA

Madam,
Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

Well, let us go.

What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?

If you respect them, best to take them up.

Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

I see you have a month's mind to them.

Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Come, come; will't please you go?
Exeunt

Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO

Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

Why, what of him?

He wonder'd that your lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
While other men, of slender reputation,
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some to discover islands far away;
Some to the studious universities.
For any or for all these exercises,
He said that Proteus your son was meet,
And did request me to importune you
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age,
In having known no travel in his youth.

Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:
Experience is by industry achieved
And perfected by the swift course of time.
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?

I think your lordship is not ignorant
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.

I know it well.

'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen.
And be in eye of every exercise
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

I like thy counsel; well hast thou advised:
And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,
The execution of it shall make known.
Even with the speediest expedition
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.

To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other gentlemen of good esteem,
Are journeying to salute the emperor
And to commend their service to his will.

Good company; with them shall Proteus go:
And, in good time! now will we break with him.
Enter PROTEUS

Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
O heavenly Julia!

How now! what letter are you reading there?

May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendations sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.

Lend me the letter; let me see what news.

There is no news, my lord, but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well beloved
And daily graced by the emperor;
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

And how stand you affected to his wish?

As one relying on your lordship's will
And not depending on his friendly wish.

My will is something sorted with his wish.
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentinus in the emperor's court:
What maintenance he from his friends receives,
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.
To-morrow be in readiness to go:
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

My lord, I cannot be so soon provided:
Please you, deliberate a day or two.

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 ANTONIO and PANTHINO

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 show 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
The 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

Sir Proteus, your father calls for you:
He is in haste; therefore, I pray you to go.

Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto,
And yet a thousand times it answers 'no.'
Exeunt

Enter VALENTINE and SPEED

Sir, your glove.

Not mine; my gloves are on.

Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.

Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine:
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah, Silvia, Silvia!

Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!

How now, sirrah?

She is not within hearing, sir.

Why, sir, who bade you call her?

Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.

Well, you'll still be too forward.

And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

Go to, sir: tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?

She that your worship loves?

Why, how know you that I am in love?

Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms,
like a male*******; to relish a love-song, like a
robin-redbreast; 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 ****morphosed with a mistress, that, when I look
on you, I can hardly think you my master.

Are all these things perceived in me?

They are all perceived without ye.

Without me? they cannot.

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.

But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper?

Hast thou observed that? even she, I mean.

Why, sir, I know her not.

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

Is she not hard-favoured, sir?

Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.

Sir, I know that well enough.

What dost thou know?

That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured.

I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

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

How painted? and how out of count?

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

How esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.

You never saw her since she was deformed.

How long hath she been deformed?

Ever since you loved her.

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

If you love her, you cannot see her.

Why?

Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes;
or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to
have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going
ungartered!

What should I see then?

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.

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

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.

In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to
one she loves.

And have you?

I have.

Are they not lamely writ?

No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace!
here she comes.

[Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.
Enter SILVIA

Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

[Aside] O, give ye good even! here's a million of manners.

Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

[Aside] He should give her interest and she gives it him.

As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in
But for my duty to your ladyship.

I thank you gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
For being ignorant to whom it goes
I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

No, madam; so it stead you, I will write
Please you command, a thousand times as much; And yet--

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.

[Aside] And yet you will; and yet another 'yet.'

What means your ladyship? do you not like it?

Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
But since unwillingly, take them again.
Nay, take them.

Madam, they are for you.

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.

Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

And when it's writ, for my sake read it over,
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

If it please me, madam, what then?

Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:
And so, good morrow, servant.
Exit

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
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?

How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?

Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.

To do what?

To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.

To whom?

To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.

What figure?

By a letter, I should say.

Why, she hath not writ to me?

What need she, when she hath made you write to
yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

No, believe me.

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

She gave me none, except an angry word.

Why, she hath given you a letter.

That's the letter I writ to her friend.

And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.

I would it were no worse.

I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you 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 discover,
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.

I have dined.

Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon 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

Enter PROTEUS and JULIA

Have patience, gentle Julia.

I must, where is no remedy.

When possibly I can, I will return.

If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
Giving a ring

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

And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should.
Julia, farewell!
Exit JULIA
What, gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
Enter PANTHINO

Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.

Go; I come, I come.
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
Exeunt

Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;
all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I
have received my proportion, like the prodigious
son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's
court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured
dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father
wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat
wringing her hands, and all our house in a great
perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed
one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and
has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have
wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam,
having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my
parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This
shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father:
no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that
cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it
hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in
it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance
on't! there 'tis: now, sit, this staff is my
sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and
as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I
am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the
dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,
so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing:
now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping:
now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now
come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now
like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there
'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now
come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now
the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a
word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter PANTHINO

Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped
and thou art to post after with oars. What's the
matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! You'll
lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the
unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

What's the unkindest tide?

Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.

Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in
losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing
thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy
master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy
service,--Why dost thou stop my mouth?

For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

Where should I lose my tongue?

In thy tale.

In thy tail!

Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and
the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river
were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the
wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

Sir, call me what thou darest.

Wilt thou go?

Well, I will go.
Exeunt

Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED

Servant!

Mistress?

Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Ay, boy, it's for love.

Not of you.

Of my mistress, then.

'Twere good you knocked him.
Exit

Servant, you are sad.

Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Seem you that you are not?

Haply I do.

So do counterfeits.

So do you.

What seem I that I am not?

Wise.

What instance of the contrary?

Your folly.

And how quote you my folly?

I quote it in your jerkin.

My jerkin is a doublet.

Well, then, I'll double your folly.

How?

What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?

Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.

That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live
in your air.

You have said, sir.

Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

Who is that, servant?

Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir
Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,
and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall
make your wit bankrupt.

I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,
and, I think, no other treasure to give your
followers, for it appears by their bare liveries,
that they live by your bare words.

No more, gentlemen, no more:--here comes my father.
Enter DUKE

Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?

My lord, I will be thankful.
To any happy messenger from thence.

Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?

Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth and worthy estimation
And not without desert so well reputed.

Hath he not a son?

Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.

You know him well?

I know him as myself; for from our infancy
We have conversed and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, for far behind his worth
Comes all the praises that I now bestow,
He is complete in feature and in mind
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time awhile:
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.

Welcome him then according to his worth.
Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:
I will send him hither to you presently.
Exit

This is the gentleman I told your ladyship
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

Belike that now she hath enfranchised them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.

Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind
How could he see his way to seek out you?

Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.

They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:
Upon a homely object Love can wink.

Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
Exit THURIO
Enter PROTEUS

Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.

His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.

Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

Too low a mistress for so high a servant.

Not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

Leave off discourse of disability:
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

My duty will I boast of; nothing else.

And duty never yet did want his meed:
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

I'll die on him that says so but yourself.

That you are welcome?

That you are worthless.
Re-enter THURIO

Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.

I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.

We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO

Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

Your friends are well and have them much commended.

And how do yours?

I left them all in health.

How does your lady? and how thrives your love?

My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know you joy not in a love discourse.

Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning Love,
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;
For in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
Now no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
Was this the idol that you worship so?

Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

No; but she is an earthly paragon.

Call her divine.

I will not flatter her.

O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,
And I must minister the like to you.

Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

Except my mistress.

Sweet, except not any;
Except thou wilt except against my love.

Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour--
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower
And make rough winter everlastingly.

Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing
To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone.

Then let her alone.

Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

But she loves you?

Ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our,
marriage-hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determined of; how I must climb her window,
The ladder made of cords, and all the means
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use,
And then I'll presently attend you.

Will you make haste?

I will.
Exit VALENTINE
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine, or Valentine's praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
O, but I love his lady too too much,
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her!
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can cheque my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.
Exit

Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally

Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan!

Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not
welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never
undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a
place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess
say 'Welcome!'

Come on, you madcap, I'll to the alehouse with you
presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou
shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how
did thy master part with Madam Julia?

Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very
fairly in jest.

But shall she marry him?

No.

How then? shall he marry her?

No, neither.

What, are they broken?

No, they are both as whole as a fish.

Why, then, how stands the matter with them?

Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it
stands well with her.

What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.

What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My
staff understands me.

What thou sayest?

Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean,
and my staff understands me.

It stands under thee, indeed.

Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

But tell me true, will't be a match?

Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will! if he say no,
it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.

The conclusion is then that it will.

Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.

'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest
thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

I never knew him otherwise.

Than how?

A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.

Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself
in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse;
if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the
name of a Christian.

Why?

Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to
go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

At thy service.
Exeunt