Act III. Scene I.Milan. An anteroom in the
Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.
Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray,
We have some secrets to confer about.
Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would
The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
But when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince. Sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stol'n away from you
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep,
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company and my court;
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
And so unworthily disgrace the man,
A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a
How he her chamber-window will ascend
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly
That my discovery be not aimed at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord: Sir Valentine is coming.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Val. Please it your Grace, there is a mes-
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.
Duke. Be they of much import?
Val. The tenour of them doth but signify
My health and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay then, no matter: stay with me
I am to break with thee of some affairs
That touch me near, wherein thou must be
'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and sure, the
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentle-
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Val. What would your Grace have me to do
Duke. There is a lady of Verona here,
Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy
And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
Now therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
For long agone I have forgot to court;
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed,
How and which way I may bestow myself
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind
More than quick words do move a woman's
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I
Val. A woman sometime scorns what best
Send her another; never give her o'er,
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she 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 she I mean is promis'd by her
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
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val. What lets but one may enter at her
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.
Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of
To cast 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
Duke. This very night; for Love is like a
That longs for every thing that he can come by.
Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a
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
Under a cloak that is of any length.
Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the
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
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
[Pulls open VALENTINE'S cloak.
What letter is this same? What's here?To
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.
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
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;
While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd
Because myself do want my servants' fortune;
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
That they should harbour where their lord would be.
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the pur-
Why, Phaethon,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
Go, base intruder! overweening 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 fa-
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
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
Val. And why not death rather than living
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 fly 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.
Launce. Soho! soho!
Pro. What seest thou?
Launce. Him we go to find: there's not a
hair on's head but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Who then? his spirit?
Pro. What then?
Launce. Can nothing speak? Master, shall
Pro. Who would'st thou strike?
Pro. Villain, forbear.
Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray
Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear.Friend Valentine,
Val. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear
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
What is your news?
Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you
Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy
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 she hath offer'd to the
Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet she ten-
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became
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 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
Have some 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
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, and if thou seest
Bid him make haste and meet me at the
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valen-
Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!
[Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS.
Launce. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I
have the wit to think my master is a kind of a
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 what woman, I will not
tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; 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. [Pulling out a paper.] Here is the
catelog of her condition. 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.
Speed. How now, Signior Launce! what news
with your mastership?
Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is
Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the
word. What news, then, in your paper?
Launce. The blackest news that ever thou
Speed. Why, man, how black?
Launce. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.
Launce. Fie on thee, jolthead! thou canst
Speed. Thou liest; I can.
Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this: who
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
Launce. 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
Launce. There; and Saint Nicholas be thy
Speed. Imprimis, She can milk.
Launce. Ay, that she can.
Speed. Item, She brews good ale.
Launce. And thereof comes the proverb,
'Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.'
Speed. Item, She can sew.
Launce. That's as much as to say, Can she
Speed. Item, She can knit.
Launce. What need a man care for a stock
with a wench, when she can knit him a stock?
Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.
Launce. A special virtue; for then she need
not be washed and scoured.
Speed. Item, She can spin.
Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels,
when she can spin for her living.
Speed. Item, She hath many nameless
Launce. That's as much as to say, bastard
virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers,
and therefore have no names.
Speed. Here follow her vices.
Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues.
Speed. Item, She is not to be kissed fasting,
in respect of her breath.
Launce. Well, that fault may be mended
with a breakfast. Read on.
Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth.
Launce. That makes amends for her sour
Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep.
Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep
not in her talk.
Speed. Item, She is slow in words.
Launce. O villain, that set this down among
her vices! To be slow in words is a woman's
only virtue: I pray thee, out with 't, and place
it for her chief virtue.
Speed. Item, She is proud.
Launce. Out with that too: it was Eve's
legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed. Item, She hath no teeth.
Launce. I care not for that neither, because
I love crusts.
Speed. Item, She is curst.
Launce. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth
Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor.
Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall: if
she will not, I will; for good things should be
Speed. Item, She is too liberal.
Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's
writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall
not, for that I'll keep shut: now, of another
thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well,
Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit,
and more faults than hairs, and more wealth
Launce. Stop there; I'll have her: she was
mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last
article. Rehearse that once more.
Speed. Item, She hath more hair than
Launce. More hair than wit it may be;
I'll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the
salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the
hair, that covers the wit is more than the wit,
for the greater hides the less. What's next?
Speed. And more faults than hairs.
Launce. That's monstrous! O, that that
Speed. And more wealth than faults.
Launce. Why, that word makes the faults
gracious. Well, I'll have her; and if it be a
match, as nothing is impossible,
Speed. What then?
Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,that thy
master stays for thee at the North-gate.
Speed. For me?
Launce. For thee! ay; who art thou? he
hath stayed for a better man than thee.
Speed. And must I go to him?
Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou
hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve
Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox
of your love-letters! [Exit.
Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading
my letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust
himself into secrets. I'll after, to rejoice in the
boy's correction. [Exit.