SCENE III.- The Same. A Room in ANTONIO's House.

Enter ANTONIO, and PANTHINO.

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him? Pant.

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.

Ant. 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 achiev'd,

And perfected by the swift course of time.
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.

Ant. I know it well.

How happily he lives, how well belov'd,
And daily graced by the emperor;
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.
Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish ?
Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will,

And not depending on his friendly wish.

Ant. 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 resolv'd, 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.

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

Ant. 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. Pro. 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.

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

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

13

SCENE 1.- Milan. A Room in the DUKE's Palace.
Enter VALENTINE, and SPEED.

Speed. Sir, your glove.
Val.
Not mine; my gloves are on.
Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is
but one.

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

Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia!
Val. How now, sirrah?

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her?
Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
Val. Well, you'll still be too forward.

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

Val. Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know madam Silvia?

Speed. She that your worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you have learn'd, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, like a mal-content; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his ABC: 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 laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money; and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Val. Are all these things perceived in me? Speed. They are all perceived without ye. Val. Without me? they cannot.

Speed. 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.

Val. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?

Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,

and yet know'st her not?

Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd.

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) wellfavour'd.

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

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

Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man 'counts of her beauty.

Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty.

Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd.

Val. How long hath she been deform'd?
Speed. Ever since you loved her.

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

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val. Why?

Speed. 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!

Val. What should I see then?

Speed. 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.

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

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. 1 thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves.

Speed. And have you ?
Val. I have.

Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

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

Enter SILVIA.

Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her.

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good mor

rows.

Speed. O! 'give ye good even: here's a million of manners.

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

And yet take this again;-and yet I thank you,
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet.
Val. What means your ladyship? do you not
like it?

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

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. 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.

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over; And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

Val. If it please me, madam; what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:
SO good-morrow, servant.

And

[Exit

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O! be not like your mistress: be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Verona, A Room in JULIA'S House. Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.

Jul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.

Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

[Giving a ring.

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

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'er-slips 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.
[Exit JULIA.

Julia, farewell. - What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak;

Nan, our maid: I am the dog;-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog. -O! 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.

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

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Pant. What's the unkindest tide?

Launce. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog. Pant. 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?

Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pant. Where should I lose my tongue?
Launce. In thy tale.

SCENE III. - The Same. A Street.
Enter LAUNCE, leading a Dog.

Launce. 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 cruelhearted 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, sir, this staff is my sister; far, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is