That touch me near; wherein thou must be fecret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have fought
To match my friend fir Thurio to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and, fure, the match
Were rich and honourable; befides, the gentleman
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, fullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, I may 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 duty,
I now am full refolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'ry;
For me, and my possessions, she esteems not.
Val. What would your grace have me to do in this?
Duke. There is a lady, fir, in Milan 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;
Befides, the fashion of the time is chang'd)
How, and which way, I may beftow myself,
To be regarded in her fun-bright eye.
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respects not words;
Dumb jewels often in their filent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I fent her.
Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her :
Send her another; never give her o'er;
For fcorn 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 repulfe, 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 friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,
And kept feverely from refort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.
Val. Why, then I would refort 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 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, fir, tell me that.
Duke. This very night; for love is like a child,
That longs for ev'ry thing that he can come by..
Val. By seven o' clock I'll get you fuch 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.
Duke. A cloak as long as thine will ferve the turn?
THE TWO GENTLEMEN
Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke. Then let me fee thy cloak;
I'll get me one of such another length.
Val. Why, any cloak will ferve the turn, my lord.
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. [Pulls off his cloak.
What letter is this fame? what's here? To Silvia?
And here an engine fit for my proceeding?
I'll be fo bold to break the feal for once.
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,
And flaves 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 importune,
Do curse the grace that with fuch grace hath bleft them,
Because myself do want my fervants fortune :
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
That they should harbour where their lord would be.
What's here? Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee.
'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaeton, for thou art Merops' fon,
Wilt thou afpire to guide the heav'nly 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 defert,
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 fwifteft expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heav'n, 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.
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 musick 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
Fofter'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 Protheus and Launce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho! fo-ho! ---
Pro. What seest thou?
Laun. Him we go to find:
There's not an hair on's head but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Who then; his spirit?
Val. Neither.
Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike ?
Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike?
Laun. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear.
Laun. Why, fır, I'll strike nothing; I pray you.
Pro. I say, forbear: friend Valentine, a word.
Val. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possess'd 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 she forfworn me?
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me :
What is your news?
Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation, you are vanish'd.
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 wo already;
And now excess of it will make me furfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?
Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom,
Which unrevers'd stands in effectual force,
A fea 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 so 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-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate fire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
|