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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 To Silvia? And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. (reads. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;

And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are

lying My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,

While I, their king, that thither them impórtune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath

bless'd them, Because myself do want my servants' fortune : I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should

be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will en franchise 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, 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'st 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 music 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 dy his deadly doom :
Tarry I here, I but attend on death ;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter Proteus and Launce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho! so-ho!
Pro. What seest thou ?

Laun. 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.
Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?
Pro. Whom would'st thou strike ?

4

Laun. Nothing:
Pro. Villain, körbear.
Laun. Why, sir, 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, untunable; 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 ?
Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are

vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd, O, that's the

news ; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

Val. O, I have fed upon this wo already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd ?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the dooma (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tenderd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self ; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became

them, As if but now they waxed pale for wo: But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad si rhs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,

When she 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'st, Have some malignant power upon my life : If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.í 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, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate : 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'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my

boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O mỹ dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine !

[Ereunt Valentine and Proteus. Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but that's all one, if he be but one 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 that woman, I will not tell myself;

(1) Grief,

and yet 'tis a milk-maid': yet ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips : yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cat-log (pulling out a paper) of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed. Speed. How now, Signior Launce? what news with your mastership?

Laun. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea.

Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word : what news then in your paper ?

Laun. The blackest 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, jolt-head; thou canst not read.

Speed. Thou liest, I can.

Laun. I will try thee : tell me this: who begot thee?

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read.

Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper.

Laun. There; and Saint Nicholasl be thy speed !

Speed. Item, She brews good ale. Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.

(1) St. Nicholas presided over young scholars

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