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[exit.] act i. scene i. verona. a public place. enter sampson and gregory (with swords and bucklers) of the house of capulet. samp. gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals. greg. no, for then we should be colliers. samp. i mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. greg. ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar. samp. i strike quickly, being moved. greg. but thou art not quickly moved to strike. samp. a dog of the house of montague moves me. greg. to move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand. therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. samp. a dog of that house shall move me to stand. i will take the wall of any man or maid of montague's. greg. that shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. samp. 'tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. therefore i will push montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall. greg. the quarrel is between our masters and us their men. samp. 'tis all one. i will show myself a tyrant. when i have fought with the men, i will be cruel with the maidsi will cut off their heads. greg. the heads of the maids? samp. ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads. take it in what sense thou wilt. greg. they must take it in sense that feel it. samp. me they shall feel while i am able to stand; and 'tis known i am a pretty piece of flesh. greg. 'tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-john. draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of montagues. enter two other servingmen [abram and balthasar]. samp. my naked weapon is out. quarrel! i will back thee. greg. how? turn thy back and run? samp. fear me not. greg. no, marry. i fear thee! samp. let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. greg. i will frown as i pass by, and let them take it as they list. samp. nay, as they dare. i will bite my thumb at them; which is disgrace to them, if they bear it. abr. do you bite your thumb at us, sir? samp. i do bite my thumb, sir. abr. do you bite your thumb at us, sir? samp. [aside to gregory] is the law of our side if i say ay? greg. [aside to sampson] no. samp. no, sir, i do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but i bite my thumb, sir. greg. do you quarrel, sir? abr. quarrel, sir? no, sir. samp. but if you do, sir, am for you. i serve as good a man as you. abr. no better. samp. well, sir. enter benvolio. greg. [aside to sampson] say 'better.' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. samp. yes, better, sir. abr. you lie. samp. draw, if you be men. gregory, remember thy swashing blow. they fight. ben. part, fools! [beats down their swords.] put up your swords. you know not what you do. enter tybalt. tyb. what, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? turn thee benvolio! look upon thy death. ben. i do but keep the peace. put up thy sword, or manage it to part these men with me. tyb. what, drawn, and talk of peace? i hate the word as i hate hell, all montagues, and thee. have at thee, coward! they fight. enter an officer, and three or four citizens with clubs or partisans. officer. clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! citizens. down with the capulets! down with the montagues! enter old capulet in his gown, and his wife. cap. what noise is this? give me my long sword, ho! wife. a crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? cap. my sword, i say! old montague is come and flourishes his blade in spite of me. enter old montague and his wife. mon. thou villain capulet!hold me not, let me go. m. wife. thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. enter prince escalus, with his train. prince. rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, profaners of this neighbour-stained steel will they not hear? what, ho! you men, you beasts, that quench the fire of your pernicious rage with purple fountains issuing from your veins! on pain of torture, from those bloody hands throw your mistempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your moved prince. three civil brawls, bred of an airy word by thee, old capulet, and montague, have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets and made verona's ancient citizens cast by their grave beseeming ornaments to wield old partisans, in hands as old, cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate. if ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. for this time all the rest depart away. you, capulet, shall go along with me; and, montague, come you this afternoon, to know our farther pleasure in this case, to old freetown, our common judgment place. once more, on pain of death, all men depart. exeunt [all but montague, his wife, and benvolio]. mon. who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? speak, nephew, were you by when it began? ben. here were the servants of your adversary and yours, close fighting ere i did approach. i drew to part them. in the instant came the fiery tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, he swung about his head and cut the winds, who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. while we were interchanging thrusts and blows, came more and more, and fought on part and part, till the prince came, who parted either part. m. wife. o, where is romeo? saw you him to-day? right glad i am he was not at this fray. ben. madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun peer'd forth the golden window of the east, a troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; where, underneath the grove of sycamore that westward rooteth from the city's side, so early walking did i see your son. towards him i made; but he was ware of me and stole into the covert of the wood. imeasuring his affections by my own, which then most sought where most might not be found, being one too many by my weary self pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, and gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. mon. many a morning hath he there been seen, with tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; but all so soon as the all-cheering sun should in the furthest east bean to draw the shady curtains from aurora's bed, away from light steals home my heavy son and private in his chamber pens himself, shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight and makes himself an artificial night. black and portentous must this humour prove unless good counsel may the cause remove. ben. my noble uncle, do you know the cause? mon. i neither know it nor can learn of him ben. have you importun'd him by any means? mon. both by myself and many other friend; but he, his own affections' counsellor, is to himselfi will not say how true but to himself so secret and so close, so far from sounding and discovery, as is the bud bit with an envious worm ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air or dedicate his beauty to the sun. could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, we would as willingly give cure as know. enter romeo. ben. see, where he comes. so please you step aside, i'll know his grievance, or be much denied. mon. i would thou wert so happy by thy stay to hear true shrift. come, madam, let's away, exeunt [montague and wife]. ben. good morrow, cousin. rom. is the day so young? ben. but new struck nine. rom. ay me! sad hours seem long. was that my father that went hence so fast? ben. it was. what sadness lengthens romeo's hours? rom. not having that which having makes them short. ben. in love? rom. out ben. of love? rom. out of her favour where i am in love. ben. alas that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! rom. alas that love, whose view is muffled still, should without eyes see pathways to his will! where shall we dine? o me! what fray was here? yet tell me not, for i have heard it all. here's much to do with hate, but more with love. why then, o brawling love! o loving hate! o anything, of nothing first create! o heavy lightness! serious vanity! misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! still-waking sleep, that is not what it is this love feel i, that feel no love in this. dost thou not laugh? ben. no, coz, i rather weep. rom. good heart, at what? ben. at thy good heart's oppression. rom. why, such is love's transgression. griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest with more of thine. this love that thou hast shown doth add more grief to too much of mine own. love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears. what is it else? a madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet. farewell, my coz. ben. soft! i will go along. an if you leave me so, you do me wrong. rom. tut! i have lost myself; i am not here: this is not romeo, he's some other where. ben. tell me in sadness, who is that you love? rom. what, shall i groan and tell thee? ben. groan? why, no; but sadly tell me who. rom. bid a sick man in sadness make his will. ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! in sadness, cousin, i do love a woman. ben. i aim'd so near when i suppos'd you lov'd. rom. a right good markman! and she's fair i love. ben. a right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. rom. well, in that hit you miss. she'll not be hit with cupid's arrow. she hath dian's wit, and, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, from love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. she will not stay the siege of loving terms, nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. o, she's rich in beauty; only poor that, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. ben. then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? rom. she hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; for beauty, starv'd with her severity, cuts beauty off from all posterity. she is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, to merit bliss by making me despair. she hath forsworn to love, and in that vow do i live dead that live to tell it now. ben. be rul'd by me: forget to think of her. rom. o, teach me how i should forget to think! ben. by giving liberty unto thine eyes. examine other beauties. rom. 'tis the way to call hers (exquisite) in question more. these happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, being black puts us in mind they hide the fair. he that is strucken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where i may read who pass'd that passing fair? farewell. thou canst not teach me to forget. ben. i'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. exeunt. scene ii. a street. enter capulet, county paris, and [servant] -the clown. cap. but montague is bound as well as i, in penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, i think, for men so old as we to keep the peace. par. of honourable reckoning are you both, and pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. but now, my lord, what say you to my suit? cap. but saying o'er what i have said before: my child is yet a stranger in the world, she hath not seen the change of fourteen years; let two more summers wither in their pride ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. par. younger than she are happy mothers made. cap. and too soon marr'd are those so early made. the earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she; she is the hopeful lady of my earth. but woo her, gentle paris, get her heart; my will to her consent is but a part. an she agree, within her scope of choice lies my consent and fair according voice. this night i hold an old accustom'd feast, whereto i have invited many a guest, such as i love; and you among the store, one more, most welcome, makes my number more. at my poor house look to behold this night earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light. such comfort as do lusty young men feel when well apparell'd april on the heel of limping winter treads, even such delight among fresh female buds shall you this night inherit at my house. hear all, all see, and like her most whose merit most shall be; which, on more view of many, mine, being one, may stand in number, though in reck'ning none. come, go with me. [to servant, giving him a paper] go, sirrah, trudge about through fair verona; find those persons out whose names are written there, and to them say, my house and welcome on their pleasure stay exeunt [capulet and paris]. serv. find them out whose names are written here? it is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets; but i am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. i must to the learned. in good time! enter benvolio and romeo. ben. tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning; one pain is lessoned by another's anguish; turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; one desperate grief cures with another's languish. take thou some new infection to thy eye, and the rank poison of the old will die. rom. your plantain leaf is excellent for that. ben. for what, i pray thee? rom. for your broken shin. ben. why, romeo, art thou mad? rom. not mad, but bound more than a madman is; shut up in prison, kept without my food, whipp'd and tormented andgod-den, good fellow. serv. god gi' go-den. i pray, sir, can you read? rom. ay, mine own fortune in my misery. serv. perhaps you have learned it without book. but i pray, can you read anything you see? rom. ay, if i know the letters and the language. serv. ye say honestly. rest you merry! rom. stay, fellow; i can read. he reads. 'signior martino and his wife and daughters; county anselmo and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of vitruvio; signior placentio and his lovely nieces; mercutio and his brother valentine; mine uncle capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece rosaline and livia; signior valentio and his cousin tybalt; lucio and the lively helena.' [gives back the paper.] a fair assembly. whither should they come? serv. up. rom. whither? serv. to supper, to our house. rom. whose house? serv. my master's. rom. indeed i should have ask'd you that before. serv. now i'll tell you without asking. my master is the great rich capulet; and if you be not of the house of montagues, i pray come and crush a cup of wine. rest you merry! exit. ben. at this same ancient feast of capulet's sups the fair rosaline whom thou so lov'st; with all the admired beauties of verona. go thither, and with unattainted eye compare her face with some that i shall show, and i will make thee think thy swan a crow. rom. when the devout religion of mine eye maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; and these, who, often drown'd, could never die, transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! one fairer than my love? the all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. ben. tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, herself pois'd with herself in either eye; but in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd your lady's love against some other maid that i will show you shining at this feast, and she shall scant show well that now seems best. rom. i'll go along, no such sight to be shown, but to rejoice in splendour of my own. [exeunt.] scene iii. capulet's house. enter capulet's wife, and nurse. wife. nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. nurse. now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old, i bade her come. what, lamb! what ladybird! god forbid! where's this girl? what, juliet! enter juliet. jul. how now? who calls? nurse. your mother. jul. madam, i am here. what is your will? wife. this is the matternurse, give leave awhile, we must talk in secret. nurse, come back again; i have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel. thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age. nurse. faith, i can tell her age unto an hour. wife. she's not fourteen. nurse. i'll lay fourteen of my teeth and yet, to my teen be it spoken, i have but four she is not fourteen. how long is it now to lammastide? wife. a fortnight and odd days. nurse. even or odd, of all days in the year, come lammas eve at night shall she be fourteen. susan and she (god rest all christian souls!) were of an age. well, susan is with god; she was too good for me. but, as i said, on lammas eve at night shall she be fourteen; that shall she, marry; i remember it well. 'tis since the earthquake now eleven years; and she was wean'd (i never shall forget it), of all the days of the year, upon that day; for i had then laid wormwood to my dug, sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall. my lord and you were then at mantua. nay, i do bear a brain. but, as i said, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'twas no need, i trow, to bid me trudge. and since that time it is eleven years, for then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood, she could have run and waddled all about; for even the day before, she broke her brow; and then my husband (god be with his soul! 'a was a merry man) took up the child. 'yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; wilt thou not, jule?' and, by my holidam, the pretty wretch left crying, and said 'ay.' to see now how a jest shall come about! i warrant, an i should live a thousand yeas, i never should forget it. 'wilt thou not, jule?' quoth he, and, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'ay.' wife. enough of this. i pray thee hold thy peace. nurse. yes, madam. yet i cannot choose but laugh to think it should leave crying and say 'ay.' and yet, i warrant, it bad upon it brow a bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone; a perilous knock; and it cried bitterly. 'yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; wilt thou not, jule?' it stinted, and said 'ay.' jul. and stint thou too, i pray thee, nurse, say i. nurse. peace, i have done. god mark thee to his grace! thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er i nurs'd. an i might live to see thee married once, i have my wish. wife. marry, that 'marry' is the very theme i came to talk of. tell me, daughter juliet, how stands your disposition to be married? jul. it is an honour that i dream not of. nurse. an honour? were not i thine only nurse, i would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. wife. well, think of marriage now. younger than you, here in verona, ladies of esteem, are made already mothers. by my count, i was your mother much upon these years that you are now a maid. thus then in brief: the valiant paris seeks you for his love. nurse. a man, young lady! lady, such a man as all the worldwhy he's a man of wax. wife. verona's summer hath not such a flower. nurse. nay, he's a flower, in faitha very flower. wife. what say you? can you love the gentleman? this night you shall behold him at our feast. read o'er the volume of young paris' face, and find delight writ there with beauty's pen; examine every married lineament, and see how one another lends content; and what obscur'd in this fair volume lies find written in the margent of his eyes, this precious book of love, this unbound lover, to beautify him only lacks a cover. the fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride for fair without the fair within to hide. that book in many's eyes doth share the glory, that in gold clasps locks in the golden story; so shall you share all that he doth possess, by having him making yourself no less. nurse. no less? nay, bigger! women grow by men wife. speak briefly, can you like of paris' love? jul. i'll look to like, if looking liking move; but no more deep will i endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly. enter servingman. serv. madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything in extremity. i must hence to wait. i beseech you follow straight. wife. we follow thee. exit [servingman]. juliet, the county stays. nurse. go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. exeunt. scene iv. a street. enter romeo, mercutio, benvolio, with five or six other maskers; torchbearers. rom. what, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? or shall we on without apology? ben. the date is out of such prolixity. we'll have no cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, bearing a tartar's painted bow of lath, scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper; nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke after the prompter, for our entrance; but, let them measure us by what they will, we'll measure them a measure, and be gone. rom. give me a torch. i am not for this ambling. being but heavy, i will bear the light. mer. nay, gentle romeo, we must have you dance. rom. not i, believe me. you have dancing shoes with nimble soles; i have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground i cannot move. mer. you are a lover. borrow cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound. rom. i am too sore enpierced with his shaft to soar with his light feathers; and so bound i cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. under love's heavy burthen do i sink. mer. and, to sink in it, should you burthen love too great oppression for a tender thing. rom. is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn. mer. if love be rough with you, be rough with love. prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. give me a case to put my visage in. a visor for a visor! what care i what curious eye doth quote deformities? here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. ben. come, knock and enter; and no sooner in but every man betake him to his legs. rom. a torch for me! let wantons light of heart tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; for i am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, i'll be a candle-holder and look on; the game was ne'er so fair, and i am done. mer. tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word! if thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st up to the ears. come, we burn daylight, ho! rom. nay, that's not so. mer. i mean, sir, in delay we waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. take our good meaning, for our judgment sits five times in that ere once in our five wits. rom. and we mean well, in going to this masque; but 'tis no wit to go. mer. why, may one ask? rom. i dreamt a dream to-night. mer. and so did i. rom. well, what was yours? mer. that dreamers often lie. rom. in bed asleep, while they do dream things true. mer. o, then i see queen mab hath been with you. she is the fairies' midwife, and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs, the cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; her traces, of the smallest spider's web; her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams; her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film; her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat, not half so big as a round little worm prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; her chariot is an empty hazelnut, made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. and in this state she 'gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; o'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight; o'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; o'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, which oft the angry mab with blisters plagues, because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, and then dreams he of smelling out a suit; and sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, then dreams he of another benefice. sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, spanish blades, of healths five fadom deep; and then anon drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two and sleeps again. this is that very mab that plats the manes of horses in the night and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish, hairs, which once untangled much misfortune bodes this is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, that presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage. this is she rom. peace, peace, mercutio, peace! thou talk'st of nothing. mer. true, i talk of dreams; which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind, who wooes even now the frozen bosom of the north and, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, turning his face to the dew-dropping south. ben. this wind you talk of blows us from ourselves. supper is done, and we shall come too late. rom. i fear, too early; for my mind misgives some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin his fearful date with this night's revels and expire the term of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, by some vile forfeit of untimely death. but he that hath the steerage of my course direct my sail! on, lusty gentlemen! ben. strike, drum. they march about the stage. [exeunt.] scene v. capulet's house. servingmen come forth with napkins. 1. serv. where's potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! 2. serv. when good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing. 1. serv. away with the join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look to the plate. good thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as thou loves me, let the porter let in susan grindstone and nell. anthony, and potpan! 2. serv. ay, boy, ready. 1. serv. you are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought for, in the great chamber. 3. serv. we cannot be here and there too. cheerly, boys! be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. exeunt. enter the maskers, enter, [with servants,] capulet, his wife, juliet, tybalt, and all the guests and gentlewomen to the maskers. cap. welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you. ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she i'll swear hath corns. am i come near ye now? welcome, gentlemen! i have seen the day that i have worn a visor and could tell a whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, such as would please. 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone! you are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. a hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. music plays, and they dance. more light, you knaves! and turn the tables up, and quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin capulet, for you and i are past our dancing days. how long is't now since last yourself and i were in a mask? 2. cap. by'r lady, thirty years. cap. what, man? 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much! 'tis since the nuptial of lucentio, come pentecost as quickly as it will, some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd. 2. cap. 'tis more, 'tis more! his son is elder, sir; his son is thirty. cap. will you tell me that? his son was but a ward two years ago. rom. [to a servingman] what lady's that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight? serv. i know not, sir. rom. o, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! it seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an ethiop's ear beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! so shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. the measure done, i'll watch her place of stand and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! for i ne'er saw true beauty till this night. tyb. this, by his voice, should be a montague. fetch me my rapier, boy. what, dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity? now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead i hold it not a sin. cap. why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so? tyb. uncle, this is a montague, our foe; a villain, that is hither come in spite to scorn at our solemnity this night. cap. young romeo is it? tyb. 'tis he, that villain romeo. cap. content thee, gentle coz, let him alone. 'a bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, verona brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. i would not for the wealth of all this town here in my house do him disparagement. therefore be patient, take no note of him. it is my will; the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns, an ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. tyb. it fits when such a villain is a guest. i'll not endure him. cap. he shall be endur'd. what, goodman boy? i say he shall. go to! am i the master here, or you? go to! you'll not endure him? god shall mend my soul! you'll make a mutiny among my guests! you will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! tyb. why, uncle, 'tis a shame. cap. go to, go to! you are a saucy boy. is't so, indeed? this trick may chance to scathe you. i know what. you must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. well said, my hearts!you are a princoxgo! be quiet, ormore light, more light!for shame! i'll make you quiet; what!cheerly, my hearts! tyb. patience perforce with wilful choler meeting makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. i will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall. exit. rom. if i profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. jul. good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. rom. have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? jul. ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r. rom. o, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do! they pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. jul. saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. rom. then move not while my prayer's effect i take. thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [kisses her.] jul. then have my lips the sin that they have took. rom. sin from my lips? o trespass sweetly urg'd! give me my sin again. [kisses her.] jul. you kiss by th' book. nurse. madam, your mother craves a word with you. rom. what is her mother? nurse. marry, bachelor, her mother is the lady of the house. and a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. i nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal. i tell you, he that can lay hold of her shall have the chinks. rom. is she a capulet? o dear account! my life is my foe's debt. ben. away, be gone; the sport is at the best. rom. ay, so i fear; the more is my unrest. cap. nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; we have a trifling foolish banquet towards. is it e'en so? why then, i thank you all. i thank you, honest gentlemen. good night. more torches here! [exeunt maskers.] come on then, let's to bed. ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late; i'll to my rest. exeunt [all but juliet and nurse]. jul. come hither, nurse. what is yond gentleman? nurse. the son and heir of old tiberio. jul. what's he that now is going out of door? nurse. marry, that, i think, be young petruchio. jul. what's he that follows there, that would not dance? nurse. i know not. jul. go ask his name.if he be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed. nurse. his name is romeo, and a montague, the only son of your great enemy. jul. my only love, sprung from my only hate! too early seen unknown, and known too late! prodigious birth of love it is to me that i must love a loathed enemy. nurse. what's this? what's this? jul. a rhyme i learnt even now of one i danc'd withal. one calls within, 'juliet.' nurse. anon, anon! come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. exeunt. prologue enter chorus. chor. now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, and young affection gapes to be his heir; that fair for which love groan'd for and would die, with tender juliet match'd, is now not fair. now romeo is belov'd, and loves again, alike bewitched by the charm of looks; but to his foe suppos'd he must complain, and she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. being held a foe, he may not have access to breathe such vows as lovers use to swear, and she as much in love, her means much less to meet her new beloved anywhere; but passion lends them power, time means, to meet, temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. exit. act ii. scene i. a lane by the wall of capulet's orchard. enter romeo alone. rom. can i go forward when my heart is here? turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [climbs the wall and leaps down within it.] enter benvolio with mercutio. ben. romeo! my cousin romeo! romeo! mer. he is wise, and, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. ben. he ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall. call, good mercutio. mer. nay, i'll conjure too. romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; speak but one rhyme, and i am satisfied! cry but 'ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove'; speak to my gossip venus one fair word, one nickname for her purblind son and heir, young adam cupid, he that shot so trim when king cophetua lov'd the beggar maid! he heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth not; the ape is dead, and i must conjure him. i conjure thee by rosaline's bright eyes. by her high forehead and her scarlet lip, by her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, and the demesnes that there adjacent lie, that in thy likeness thou appear to us! ben. an if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. mer. this cannot anger him. 'twould anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress' circle of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjur'd it down. that were some spite; my invocation is fair and honest: in his mistress' name, i conjure only but to raise up him. ben. come, he hath hid himself among these trees to be consorted with the humorous night. blind is his love and best befits the dark. mer. if love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. now will he sit under a medlar tree and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call medlars when they laugh alone. o, romeo, that she were, o that she were an open et cetera, thou a pop'rin pear! romeo, good night. i'll to my truckle-bed; this field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. come, shall we go? ben. go then, for 'tis in vain 'to seek him here that means not to be found. exeunt. scene ii. capulet's orchard. enter romeo. rom. he jests at scars that never felt a wound. enter juliet above at a window. but soft! what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and juliet is the sun! arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she. be not her maid, since she is envious. her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. cast it off. it is my lady; o, it is my love! o that she knew she were! she speaks, yet she says nothing. what of that? her eye discourses; i will answer it. i am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks. two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. what if her eyes were there, they in her head? the brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. see how she leans her cheek upon her hand! o that i were a glove upon that hand, that i might touch that cheek! jul. ay me! rom. she speaks. o, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air. jul. o romeo, romeo! wherefore art thou romeo? deny thy father and refuse thy name! or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and i'll no longer be a capulet. rom. [aside] shall i hear more, or shall i speak at this? jul. 'tis but thy name that is my enemy. thou art thyself, though not a montague. what's montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. o, be some other name! what's in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. so romeo would, were he not romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. romeo, doff thy name; and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself. rom. i take thee at thy word. call me but love, and i'll be new baptiz'd; henceforth i never will be romeo. jul. what man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night, so stumblest on my counsel? rom. by a name i know not how to tell thee who i am. my name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. had i it written, i would tear the word. jul. my ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet i know the sound. art thou not romeo, and a montague? rom. neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. jul. how cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? the orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here. rom. with love's light wings did i o'erperch these walls; for stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do, that dares love attempt. therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. jul. if they do see thee, they will murther thee. rom. alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords! look thou but sweet, and i am proof against their enmity. jul. i would not for the world they saw thee here. rom. i have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; and but thou love me, let them find me here. my life were better ended by their hate than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. jul. by whose direction found'st thou out this place? rom. by love, that first did prompt me to enquire. he lent me counsel, and i lent him eyes. i am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far as that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, i would adventure for such merchandise. jul. thou knowest the mask of night is on my face; else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek for that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. fain would i dwell on formfain, fain deny what i have spoke; but farewell compliment! dost thou love me, i know thou wilt say 'ay'; and i will take thy word. yet, if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false. at lovers' perjuries, they say jove laughs. o gentle romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. or if thou thinkest i am too quickly won, i'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. in truth, fair montague, i am too fond, and therefore thou mayst think my haviour light; but trust me, gentleman, i'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange. i should have been more strange, i must confess, but that thou overheard'st, ere i was ware, my true-love passion. therefore pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love, which the dark night hath so discovered. rom. lady, by yonder blessed moon i swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops jul. o, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable. rom. what shall i swear by? jul. do not swear at all; or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and i'll believe thee. rom. if my heart's dear love jul. well, do not swear. although i joy in thee, i have no joy of this contract to-night. it is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say 'it lightens.' sweet, good night! this bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet. good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast! rom. o, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? jul. what satisfaction canst thou have to-night? rom. th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. jul. i gave thee mine before thou didst request it; and yet i would it were to give again. rom. would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? jul. but to be frank and give it thee again. and yet i wish but for the thing i have. my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more i give to thee, the more i have, for both are infinite. i hear some noise within. dear love, adieu! [nurse] calls within. anon, good nurse! sweet montague, be true. stay but a little, i will come again. [exit.] rom. o blessed, blessed night! i am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial. enter juliet above. jul. three words, dear romeo, and good night indeed. if that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, by one that i'll procure to come to thee, where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; and all my fortunes at thy foot i'll lay and follow thee my lord throughout the world. nurse. (within) madam! jul. i come, anon.but if thou meanest not well, i do beseech thee nurse. (within) madam! jul. by-and-by i come. to cease thy suit and leave me to my grief. to-morrow will i send. rom. so thrive my soul jul. a thousand times good night! exit. rom. a thousand times the worse, to want thy light! love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; but love from love, towards school with heavy looks. enter juliet again, [above]. jul. hist! romeo, hist! o for a falconer's voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again! bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud; else would i tear the cave where echo lies, and make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine with repetition of my romeo's name. romeo! rom. it is my soul that calls upon my name. how silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! jul. romeo! rom. my dear? jul. at what o'clock to-morrow shall i send to thee? rom. by the hour of nine. jul. i will not fail. 'tis twenty years till then. i have forgot why i did call thee back. rom. let me stand here till thou remember it. jul. i shall forget, to have thee still stand there, rememb'ring how i love thy company. rom. and i'll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this. jul. 'tis almost morning. i would have thee gone and yet no farther than a wanton's bird, that lets it hop a little from her hand, like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, and with a silk thread plucks it back again, so loving-jealous of his liberty. rom. i would i were thy bird. jul. sweet, so would i. yet i should kill thee with much cherishing. good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, that i shall say good night till it be morrow. [exit.] rom. sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! would i were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! hence will i to my ghostly father's cell, his help to crave and my dear hap to tell. exit scene iii. friar laurence's cell. enter friar, [laurence] alone, with a basket. friar. the grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light; and flecked darkness like a drunkard reels from forth day's path and titan's fiery wheels. non, ere the sun advance his burning eye the day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, i must up-fill this osier cage of ours with baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. the earth that's nature's mother is her tomb. what is her burying gave, that is her womb; and from her womb children of divers kind we sucking on her natural bosom find; many for many virtues excellent, none but for some, and yet all different. o, mickle is the powerful grace that lies in plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; for naught so vile that on the earth doth live but to the earth some special good doth give; nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometime's by action dignified. within the infant rind of this small flower poison hath residence, and medicine power; for this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. two such opposed kings encamp them still in man as well as herbsgrace and rude will; and where the worser is predominant, full soon the canker death eats up that plant. enter romeo. rom. good morrow, father. friar. benedicite! what early tongue so sweet saluteth me? young son, it argues a distempered head so soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, and where care lodges sleep will never lie; but where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. therefore thy earliness doth me assure thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature; or if not so, then here i hit it right our romeo hath not been in bed to-night. rom. that last is true-the sweeter rest was mine. friar. god pardon sin! wast thou with rosaline? rom. with rosaline, my ghostly father? no. i have forgot that name, and that name's woe. friar. that's my good son! but where hast thou been then? rom. i'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. i have been feasting with mine enemy, where on a sudden one hath wounded me that's by me wounded. both our remedies within thy help and holy physic lies. i bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, my intercession likewise steads my foe. friar. be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. rom. then plainly know my heart's dear love is set on the fair daughter of rich capulet; as mine on hers, so hers is set on mine, and all combin'd, save what thou must combine by holy marriage. when, and where, and how we met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, i'll tell thee as we pass; but this i pray, that thou consent to marry us to-day. friar. holy saint francis! what a change is here! is rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, so soon forsaken? young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. jesu maria! what a deal of brine hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for rosaline! how much salt water thrown away in waste, to season love, that of it doth not taste! the sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears. lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet. if e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, thou and these woes were all for rosaline. and art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then: women may fall when there's no strength in men. rom. thou chid'st me oft for loving rosaline. friar. for doting, not for loving, pupil mine. rom. and bad'st me bury love. friar. not in a grave to lay one in, another out to have. rom. i pray thee chide not. she whom i love now doth grace for grace and love for love allow. the other did not so. friar. o, she knew well thy love did read by rote, that could not spell. but come, young waverer, come go with me. in one respect i'll thy assistant be; for this alliance may so happy prove to turn your households' rancour to pure love. rom. o, let us hence! i stand on sudden haste. friar. wisely, and slow. they stumble that run fast. exeunt. scene iv. a street. enter benvolio and mercutio. mer. where the devil should this romeo be? came he not home to-night? ben. not to his father's. i spoke with his man. mer. why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad. ben. tybalt, the kinsman to old capulet, hath sent a letter to his father's house. mer. a challenge, on my life. ben. romeo will answer it. mer. any man that can write may answer a letter. ben. nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. mer. alas, poor romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter tybalt? ben. why, what is tybalt? mer. more than prince of cats, i can tell you. o, he's the courageous captain of compliments. he fights as you sing pricksong-keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom! the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist! a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverse! the hay. ben. the what? mer. the pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes these new tuners of accent! 'by jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? o, their bones, their bones! enter romeo. ben. here comes romeo! here comes romeo! mer. without his roe, like a dried herring. o flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! now is he for the numbers that petrarch flowed in. laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a better love to berhyme her), dido a dowdy, cleopatra a gypsy, helen and hero hildings and harlots, this be a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. signior romeo, bon jour! there's a french salutation to your french slop. you gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. rom. good morrow to you both. what counterfeit did i give you? mer. the slip, sir, the slip. can you not conceive? rom. pardon, good mercutio. my business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. mer. that's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. rom. meaning, to cursy. mer. thou hast most kindly hit it. rom. a most courteous exposition. mer. nay, i am the very pink of courtesy. rom. pink for flower. mer. right. rom. why, then is my pump well-flower'd. mer. well said! follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular. rom. o single-sold jest, solely singular for the singleness! mer. come between us, good benvolio! my wits faint. rom. swits and spurs, swits and spurs! or i'll cry a match. mer. nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, i am done; for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, i am sure, i have in my whole five. was i with you there for the goose? rom. thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose. mer. i will bite thee by the ear for that jest. rom. nay, good goose, bite not! mer. thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. rom. and is it not, then, well serv'd in to a sweet goose? mer. o, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! rom. i stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which, added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. mer. why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. for this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. ben. stop there, stop there! mer. thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. ben. thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. mer. o, thou art deceiv'd! i would have made it short; for i was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer. rom. here's goodly gear! enter nurse and her man [peter]. mer. a sail, a sail! ben. two, two! a shirt and a smock. nurse. peter! peter. anon. nurse. my fan, peter. mer. good peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face of the two. nurse. god ye good morrow, gentlemen. mer. god ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. nurse. is it good-den? mer. 'tis no less, i tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. nurse. out upon you! what a man are you! rom. one, gentlewoman, that god hath made for himself to mar. nurse. by my troth, it is well said. 'for himself to mar,' quoth 'a? gentlemen, can any of you tell me where i may find the young romeo? rom. i can tell you; but young romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him. i am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. nurse. you say well. mer. yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith! wisely, wisely. nurse. if you be he, sir, i desire some confidence with you. ben. she will endite him to some supper. mer. a bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! rom. what hast thou found? mer. no hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent he walks by them and sings. an old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar, is very good meat in lent; but a hare that is hoar is too much for a score when it hoars ere it be spent. romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither. rom. i will follow you. mer. farewell, ancient lady. farewell, [sings] lady, lady, lady. exeunt mercutio, benvolio. nurse. marry, farewell! i pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery? rom. a gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. nurse. an 'a speak anything against me, i'll take him down, an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks; and if i cannot, i'll find those that shall. scurvy knave! i am none of his flirt-gills; i am none of his skains-mates. and thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure! peter. i saw no man use you at his pleasure. if i had, my weapon should quickly have been out, i warrant you. i dare draw as soon as another man, if i see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. nurse. now, afore god, i am so vexed that every part about me quivers. scurvy knave! pray you, sir, a word; and, as i told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out. what she bid me say, i will keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be off'red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. rom. nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. i protest unto thee nurse. good heart, and i faith i will tell her as much. lord, lord! she will be a joyful woman. rom. what wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. nurse. i will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as i take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. rom. bid her devise some means to come to shrift this afternoon; and there she shall at friar laurence' cell be shriv'd and married. here is for thy pains. nurse. no, truly, sir; not a penny. rom. go to! i say you shall. nurse. this afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. rom. and stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall. within this hour my man shall be with thee and bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, which to the high topgallant of my joy must be my convoy in the secret night. farewell. be trusty, and i'll quit thy pains. farewell. commend me to thy mistress. nurse. now god in heaven bless thee! hark you, sir. rom. what say'st thou, my dear nurse? nurse. is your man secret? did you ne'er hear say, two may keep counsel, putting one away? rom. i warrant thee my man's as true as steel. nurse. well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. lord, lord! when 'twas a little prating thingo, there is a nobleman in town, one paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. i anger her sometimes, and tell her that paris is the properer man; but i'll warrant you, when i say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. doth not rosemary and romeo begin both with a letter? rom. ay, nurse; what of that? both with an r. nurse. ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. r is for theno; i know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. rom. commend me to thy lady. nurse. ay, a thousand times. [exit romeo.] peter! peter. anon. nurse. peter, take my fan, and go before, and apace. exeunt. scene v. capulet's orchard. enter juliet. jul. the clock struck nine when i did send the nurse; in half an hour she 'promis'd to return. perchance she cannot meet him. that's not so. o, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams driving back shadows over low'ring hills. therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, and therefore hath the wind-swift cupid wings. now is the sun upon the highmost hill of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve is three long hours; yet she is not come. had she affections and warm youthful blood, she would be as swift in motion as a ball; my words would bandy her to my sweet love, and his to me, but old folks, many feign as they were dead unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. enter nurse [and peter]. o god, she comes! o honey nurse, what news? hast thou met with him? send thy man away. nurse. peter, stay at the gate. [exit peter.] jul. now, good sweet nurseo lord, why look'st thou sad? though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; if good, thou shamest the music of sweet news by playing it to me with so sour a face. nurse. i am aweary, give me leave awhile. fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunce have i had! jul. i would thou hadst my bones, and i thy news. nay, come, i pray thee speak. good, good nurse, speak. nurse. jesu, what haste! can you not stay awhile? do you not see that i am out of breath? jul. how art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath? the excuse that thou dost make in this delay is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. is thy news good or bad? answer to that. say either, and i'll stay the circumstance. let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? nurse. well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. romeo? no, not he. though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. he is not the flower of courtesy, but, i'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. go thy ways, wench; serve god. what, have you din'd at home? jul. no, no. but all this did i know before. what says he of our marriage? what of that? nurse. lord, how my head aches! what a head have i! it beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. my back o' t' other side,ah, my back, my back! beshrew your heart for sending me about to catch my death with jauncing up and down! jul. i' faith, i am sorry that thou art not well. sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? nurse. your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome; and, i warrant, a virtuouswhere is your mother? jul. where is my mother? why, she is within. where should she be? how oddly thou repliest! 'your love says, like an honest gentleman, "where is your mother?"' nurse. o god's lady dear! are you so hot? marry come up, i trow. is this the poultice for my aching bones? henceforward do your messages yourself. jul. here's such a coil! come, what says romeo? nurse. have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? jul. i have. nurse. then hie you hence to friar laurence' cell; there stays a husband to make you a wife. now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks: they'll be in scarlet straight at any news. hie you to church; i must another way, to fetch a ladder, by the which your love must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark. i am the drudge, and toil in your delight; but you shall bear the burthen soon at night. go; i'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. jul. hie to high fortune! honest nurse, farewell. exeunt. scene vi. friar laurence's cell. enter friar [laurence] and romeo. friar. so smile the heavens upon this holy act that after-hours with sorrow chide us not! rom. amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her sight. do thou but close our hands with holy words, then love-devouring death do what he dare it is enough i may but call her mine. friar. these violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume. the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness and in the taste confounds the appetite. therefore love moderately: long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. enter juliet. here comes the lady. o, so light a foot will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. a lover may bestride the gossamer that idles in the wanton summer air, and yet not fall; so light is vanity. jul. good even to my ghostly confessor. friar. romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. jul. as much to him, else is his thanks too much. rom. ah, juliet, if the measure of thy joy be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more to blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath this neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue unfold the imagin'd happiness that both receive in either by this dear encounter. jul. conceit, more rich in matter than in words, brags of his substance, not of ornament. they are but beggars that can count their worth; but my true love is grown to such excess cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. friar. come, come with me, and we will make short work; for, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone till holy church incorporate two in one. [exeunt.] act iii. scene i. a public place. enter mercutio, benvolio, and men. ben. i pray thee, good mercutio, let's retire. the day is hot, the capulets abroad. and if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl, for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. mer. thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says 'god send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. ben. am i like such a fellow? mer. come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood as any in italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. ben. and what to? mer. nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. thou hast quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before easter, with another for tying his new shoes with an old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! ben. an i were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. mer. the fee simple? o simple! enter tybalt and others. ben. by my head, here come the capulets. mer. by my heel, i care not. tyb. follow me close, for i will speak to them. gentlemen, good den. a word with one of you. mer. and but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. tyb. you shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. mer. could you not take some occasion without giving tyb. mercutio, thou consortest with romeo. mer. consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. zounds, consort! ben. we talk here in the public haunt of men. either withdraw unto some private place and reason coldly of your grievances, or else depart. here all eyes gaze on us. mer. men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. i will not budge for no man's pleasure, enter romeo. tyb. well, peace be with you, sir. here comes my man. mer. but i'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery. marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower! your worship in that sense may call him man. tyb. romeo, the love i bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain. rom. tybalt, the reason that i have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. villain am i none. therefore farewell. i see thou knowest me not. tyb. boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. rom. i do protest i never injur'd thee, but love thee better than thou canst devise till thou shalt know the reason of my love; and so good capulet, which name i tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied. mer. o calm, dishonourable, vile submission! alla stoccata carries it away. [draws.] tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk? tyb. what wouldst thou have with me? mer. good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. that i mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. tyb. i am for you. [draws.] rom. gentle mercutio, put thy rapier up. mer. come, sir, your passado! [they fight.] rom. draw, benvolio; beat down their weapons. gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage! tybalt, mercutio, the prince expressly hath forbid this bandying in verona streets. hold, tybalt! good mercutio! tybalt under romeo's arm thrusts mercutio in, and flies [with his followers]. mer. i am hurt. a plague o' both your houses! i am sped. is he gone and hath nothing? ben. what, art thou hurt? mer. ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. marry, 'tis enough. where is my page? go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [exit page.] rom. courage, man. the hurt cannot be much. mer. no, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. i am peppered, i warrant, for this world. a plague o' both your houses! zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! why the devil came you between us? i was hurt under your arm. rom. i thought all for the best. mer. help me into some house, benvolio, or i shall faint. a plague o' both your houses! they have made worms' meat of me. i have it, and soundly too. your houses! [exit. [supported by benvolio]. rom. this gentleman, the prince's near ally, my very friend, hath got this mortal hurt in my behalfmy reputation stain'd with tybalt's slandertybalt, that an hour hath been my kinsman. o sweet juliet, thy beauty hath made me effeminate and in my temper soft'ned valour's steel enter benvolio. ben. o romeo, romeo, brave mercutio's dead! that gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, which too untimely here did scorn the earth. rom. this day's black fate on moe days doth depend; this but begins the woe others must end. enter tybalt. ben. here comes the furious tybalt back again. rom. alive in triumph, and mercutio slain? away to heaven respective lenity, and fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now! now, tybalt, take the 'villain' back again that late thou gavest me; for mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads, staying for thine to keep him company. either thou or i, or both, must go with him. tyb. thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, shalt with him hence. rom. this shall determine that. they fight. tybalt falls. ben. romeo, away, be gone! the citizens are up, and tybalt slain. stand not amaz'd. the prince will doom thee death if thou art taken. hence, be gone, away! rom. o, i am fortune's fool! ben. why dost thou stay? exit romeo. enter citizens. citizen. which way ran he that kill'd mercutio? tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he? ben. there lies that tybalt. citizen. up, sir, go with me. i charge thee in the prince's name obey. enter prince [attended], old montague, capulet, their wives, and [others]. prince. where are the vile beginners of this fray? ben. o noble prince. i can discover all the unlucky manage of this fatal brawl. there lies the man, slain by young romeo, that slew thy kinsman, brave mercutio. cap. wife. tybalt, my cousin! o my brother's child! o prince! o husband! o, the blood is spill'd of my dear kinsman! prince, as thou art true, for blood of ours shed blood of montague. o cousin, cousin! prince. benvolio, who began this bloody fray? ben. tybalt, here slain, whom romeo's hand did stay. romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink how nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal your high displeasure. all thisuttered with gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd could not take truce with the unruly spleen of tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts with piercing steel at bold mercutio's breast; who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, and, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats cold death aside and with the other sends it back to tybalt, whose dexterity retorts it. romeo he cries aloud, 'hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue, his agile arm beats down their fatal points, and 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm an envious thrust from tybalt hit the life of stout mercutio, and then tybalt fled; but by-and-by comes back to romeo, who had but newly entertain'd revenge, and to't they go like lightning; for, ere i could draw to part them, was stout tybalt slain; and, as he fell, did romeo turn and fly. this is the truth, or let benvolio die. cap. wife. he is a kinsman to the montague; affection makes him false, he speaks not true. some twenty of them fought in this black strife, and all those twenty could but kill one life. i beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give. romeo slew tybalt; romeo must not live. prince. romeo slew him; he slew mercutio. who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? mon. not romeo, prince; he was mercutio's friend; his fault concludes but what the law should end, the life of tybalt. prince. and for that offence immediately we do exile him hence. i have an interest in your hate's proceeding, my blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; but i'll amerce you with so strong a fine that you shall all repent the loss of mine. i will be deaf to pleading and excuses; nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses. therefore use none. let romeo hence in haste, else, when he is found, that hour is his last. bear hence this body, and attend our will. mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. exeunt. scene ii. capulet's orchard. enter juliet alone. jul. gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, towards phoebus' lodging! such a wagoner as phaeton would whip you to the west and bring in cloudy night immediately. spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, that runaway eyes may wink, and romeo leap to these arms untalk'd of and unseen. lovers can see to do their amorous rites by their own beauties; or, if love be blind, it best agrees with night. come, civil night, thou sober-suited matron, all in black, and learn me how to lose a winning match, play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, with thy black mantle till strange love, grown bold, think true love acted simple modesty. come, night; come, romeo; come, thou day in night; for thou wilt lie upon the wings of night whiter than new snow upon a raven's back. come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night; give me my romeo; and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun. o, i have bought the mansion of a love, but not possess'd it; and though i am sold, not yet enjoy'd. so tedious is this day as is the night before some festival to an impatient child that hath new robes and may not wear them. o, here comes my nurse, enter nurse, with cords. and she brings news; and every tongue that speaks but romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. now, nurse, what news? what hast thou there? the cords that romeo bid thee fetch? nurse. ay, ay, the cords. [throws them down.] jul. ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands nurse. ah, weraday! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! we are undone, lady, we are undone! alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! jul. can heaven be so envious? nurse. romeo can, though heaven cannot. o romeo, romeo! who ever would have thought it? romeo! jul. what devil art thou that dost torment me thus? this torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. hath romeo slain himself? say thou but 'i,' and that bare vowel 'i' shall poison more than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. i am not i, if there be such an 'i'; or those eyes shut that make thee answer 'i.' if he be slain, say 'i'; or if not, 'no.' brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. nurse. i saw the wound, i saw it with mine eyes, (god save the mark!) here on his manly breast. a piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, all in gore-blood. i swounded at the sight. jul. o, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once! to prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty! vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here, and thou and romeo press one heavy bier! nurse. o tybalt, tybalt, the best friend i had! o courteous tybalt! honest gentleman that ever i should live to see thee dead! jul. what storm is this that blows so contrary? is romeo slaught'red, and is tybalt dead? my dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord? then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! for who is living, if those two are gone? nurse. tybalt is gone, and romeo banished; romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. jul. o god! did romeo's hand shed tybalt's blood? nurse. it did, it did! alas the day, it did! jul. o serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! despised substance of divinest show! just opposite to what thou justly seem'st a damned saint, an honourable villain! o nature, what hadst thou to do in hell when thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend in mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound? o, that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace! nurse. there's no trust, no faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae. these griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. shame come to romeo! jul. blister'd be thy tongue for such a wish! he was not born to shame. upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; for 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd sole monarch of the universal earth. o, what a beast was i to chide at him! nurse. will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? jul. shall i speak ill of him that is my husband? ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name when i, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? but wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? that villain cousin would have kill'd my husband. back, foolish tears, back to your native spring! your tributary drops belong to woe, which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. my husband lives, that tybalt would have slain; and tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband. all this is comfort; wherefore weep i then? some word there was, worser than tybalt's death, that murd'red me. i would forget it fain; but o, it presses to my memory like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds! 'tybalt is dead, and romeobanished.' that 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' hath slain ten thousand tybalts. tybalt's death was woe enough, if it had ended there; or, if sour woe delights in fellowship and needly will be rank'd with other griefs, why followed not, when she said 'tybalt's dead,' thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, which modern lamentation might have mov'd? but with a rearward following tybalt's death, 'romeo is banished'to speak that word is father, mother, tybalt, romeo, juliet, all slain, all dead. 'romeo is banished' there is no end, no limit, measure, bound, in that word's death; no words can that woe sound. where is my father and my mother, nurse? nurse. weeping and wailing over tybalt's corse. will you go to them? i will bring you thither. jul. wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent, when theirs are dry, for romeo's banishment. take up those cords. poor ropes, you are beguil'd, both you and i, for romeo is exil'd. he made you for a highway to my bed; but i, a maid, die maiden-widowed. come, cords; come, nurse. i'll to my wedding bed; and death, not romeo, take my maidenhead! nurse. hie to your chamber. i'll find romeo to comfort you. i wot well where he is. hark ye, your romeo will be here at night. i'll to him; he is hid at laurence' cell. jul. o, find him! give this ring to my true knight and bid him come to take his last farewell. exeunt. scene iii. friar laurence's cell. enter friar [laurence]. friar. romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man. affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts, and thou art wedded to calamity. enter romeo. rom. father, what news? what is the prince's doom what sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand that i yet know not? friar. too familiar is my dear son with such sour company. i bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. rom. what less than doomsday is the prince's doom? friar. a gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips not body's death, but body's banishment. rom. ha, banishment? be merciful, say 'death'; for exile hath more terror in his look, much more than death. do not say 'banishment.' friar. hence from verona art thou banished. be patient, for the world is broad and wide. rom. there is no world without verona walls, but purgatory, torture, hell itself. hence banished is banish'd from the world, and world's exile is death. then 'banishment' is death misterm'd. calling death 'banishment,' thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe and smilest upon the stroke that murders me. friar. o deadly sin! o rude unthankfulness! thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, and turn'd that black word death to banishment. this is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. rom. 'tis torture, and not mercy. heaven is here, where juliet lives; and every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing, live here in heaven and may look on her; but romeo may not. more validity, more honourable state, more courtship lives in carrion flies than romeo. they may seize on the white wonder of dear juliet's hand and steal immortal blessing from her lips, who, even in pure and vestal modesty, still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; but romeo may nothe is banished. this may flies do, when i from this must fly; they are free men, but i am banished. and sayest thou yet that exile is not death? hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, no sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, but 'banished' to kill me'banished'? o friar, the damned use that word in hell; howling attends it! how hast thou the heart, being a divine, a ghostly confessor, a sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, to mangle me with that word 'banished'? friar. thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak. rom. o, thou wilt speak again of banishment. friar. i'll give thee armour to keep off that word; adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, to comfort thee, though thou art banished. rom. yet 'banished'? hang up philosophy! unless philosophy can make a juliet, displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, it helps not, it prevails not. talk no more. friar. o, then i see that madmen have no ears. rom. how should they, when that wise men have no eyes? friar. let me dispute with thee of thy estate. rom. thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. wert thou as young as i, juliet thy love, an hour but married, tybalt murdered, doting like me, and like me banished, then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, and fall upon the ground, as i do now, taking the measure of an unmade grave. knock [within]. friar. arise; one knocks. good romeo, hide thyself. rom. not i; unless the breath of heartsick groans, mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. knock. friar. hark, how they knock! who's there? romeo, arise; thou wilt be taken.stay awhile!stand up; knock. run to my study.by-and-by!god's will, what simpleness is this.i come, i come! knock. who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will nurse. [within] let me come in, and you shall know my errand. i come from lady juliet. friar. welcome then. enter nurse. nurse. o holy friar, o, tell me, holy friar where is my lady's lord, where's romeo? friar. there on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. nurse. o, he is even in my mistress' case, just in her case! friar. o woeful sympathy! piteous predicament! nurse. even so lies she, blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering. stand up, stand up! stand, an you be a man. for juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand! why should you fall into so deep an o? rom. (rises) nurse nurse. ah sir! ah sir! well, death's the end of all. rom. spakest thou of juliet? how is it with her? doth not she think me an old murtherer, now i have stain'd the childhood of our joy with blood remov'd but little from her own? where is she? and how doth she! and what says my conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? nurse. o, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; and now falls on her bed, and then starts up, and tybalt calls; and then on romeo cries, and then down falls again. rom. as if that name, shot from the deadly level of a gun, did murther her; as that name's cursed hand murder'd her kinsman. o, tell me, friar, tell me, in what vile part of this anatomy doth my name lodge? tell me, that i may sack the hateful mansion. [draws his dagger.] friar. hold thy desperate hand. art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote the unreasonable fury of a beast. unseemly woman in a seeming man! or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! thou hast amaz'd me. by my holy order, i thought thy disposition better temper'd. hast thou slain tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? and slay thy lady that in thy life lives, by doing damned hate upon thyself? why railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? since birth and heaven and earth, all three do meet in thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit, which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, and usest none in that true use indeed which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. thy noble shape is but a form of wax digressing from the valour of a man; thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, misshapen in the conduct of them both, like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, is get afire by thine own ignorance, and thou dismemb'red with thine own defence. what, rouse thee, man! thy juliet is alive, for whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead. there art thou happy. tybalt would kill thee, but thou slewest tybalt. there art thou happy too. the law, that threat'ned death, becomes thy friend and turns it to exile. there art thou happy. a pack of blessings light upon thy back; happiness courts thee in her best array; but, like a misbhav'd and sullen wench, thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love. take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. go get thee to thy love, as was decreed, ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her. but look thou stay not till the watch be set, for then thou canst not pass to mantua, where thou shalt live till we can find a time to blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back with twenty hundred thousand times more joy than thou went'st forth in lamentation. go before, nurse. commend me to thy lady, and bid her hasten all the house to bed, which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto. romeo is coming. nurse. o lord, i could have stay'd here all the night to hear good counsel. o, what learning is! my lord, i'll tell my lady you will come. rom. do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. nurse. here is a ring she bid me give you, sir. hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. exit. rom. how well my comfort is reviv'd by this! friar. go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: either be gone before the watch be set, or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. sojourn in mantua. i'll find out your man, and he shall signify from time to time every good hap to you that chances here. give me thy hand. 'tis late. farewell; good night. rom. but that a joy past joy calls out on me, it were a grief so brief to part with thee. farewell. exeunt. scene iv. capulet's house enter old capulet, his wife, and paris. cap. things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily that we have had no time to move our daughter. look you, she lov'd her kinsman tybalt dearly, and so did i. well, we were born to die. 'tis very late; she'll not come down to-night. i promise you, but for your company, i would have been abed an hour ago. par. these times of woe afford no tune to woo. madam, good night. commend me to your daughter. lady. i will, and know her mind early to-morrow; to-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. cap. sir paris, i will make a desperate tender of my child's love. i think she will be rul'd in all respects by me; nay more, i doubt it not. wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; acquaint her here of my son paris' love and bid her (mark you me?) on wednesday next but, soft! what day is this? par. monday, my lord. cap. monday! ha, ha! well, wednesday is too soon. thursday let it bea thursday, tell her she shall be married to this noble earl. will you be ready? do you like this haste? we'll keep no great adoa friend or two; for hark you, tybalt being slain so late, it may be thought we held him carelessly, being our kinsman, if we revel much. therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, and there an end. but what say you to thursday? par. my lord, i would that thursday were to-morrow. cap. well, get you gone. a thursday be it then. go you to juliet ere you go to bed; prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. farewell, my lord.light to my chamber, ho! afore me, it is so very very late that we may call it early by-and-by. good night. exeunt scene v. capulet's orchard. enter romeo and juliet aloft, at the window. jul. wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day. it was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear. nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. believe me, love, it was the nightingale. rom. it was the lark, the herald of the morn; no nightingale. look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. i must be gone and live, or stay and die. jul. yond light is not daylight; i know it, i. it is some meteor that the sun exhales to be to thee this night a torchbearer and light thee on the way to mantua. therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. rom. let me be ta'en, let me be put to death. i am content, so thou wilt have it so. i'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'tis but the pale reflex of cynthia's brow; nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads. i have more care to stay than will to go. come, death, and welcome! juliet wills it so. how is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. jul. it is, it is! hie hence, be gone, away! it is the lark that sings so out of tune, straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. some say the lark makes sweet division; this doth not so, for she divideth us. some say the lark and loathed toad chang'd eyes; o, now i would they had chang'd voices too, since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day! o, now be gone! more light and light it grows. rom. more light and lightmore dark and dark our woes! enter nurse. nurse. madam! jul. nurse? nurse. your lady mother is coming to your chamber. the day is broke; be wary, look about. jul. then, window, let day in, and let life out. [exit.] rom. farewell, farewell! one kiss, and i'll descend. he goeth down. jul. art thou gone so, my lord, my love, my friend? i must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days. o, by this count i shall be much in years ere i again behold my romeo! rom. farewell! i will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings, love, to thee. jul. o, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? rom. i doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our time to come. jul. o god, i have an ill-divining soul! methinks i see thee, now thou art below, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. rom. and trust me, love, in my eye so do you. dry sorrow drinks our blood. adieu, adieu! exit. jul. o fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle. if thou art fickle, what dost thou with him that is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune, for then i hope thou wilt not keep him long but send him back. lady. [within] ho, daughter! are you up? jul. who is't that calls? it is my lady mother. is she not down so late, or up so early? what unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? enter mother. lady. why, how now, juliet? jul. madam, i am not well. lady. evermore weeping for your cousin's death? what, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? an if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live. therefore have done. some grief shows much of love; but much of grief shows still some want of wit. jul. yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. lady. so shall you feel the loss, but not the friend which you weep for. jul. feeling so the loss, i cannot choose but ever weep the friend. lady. well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death as that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. jul. what villain, madam? lady. that same villain romeo. jul. [aside] villain and he be many miles asunder. god pardon him! i do, with all my heart; and yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. lady. that is because the traitor murderer lives. jul. ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. would none but i might venge my cousin's death! lady. we will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. then weep no more. i'll send to one in mantua, where that same banish'd runagate doth live, shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram that he shall soon keep tybalt company; and then i hope thou wilt be satisfied. jul. indeed i never shall be satisfied with romeo till i behold himdead is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd. madam, if you could find out but a man to bear a poison, i would temper it; that romeo should, upon receipt thereof, soon sleep in quiet. o, how my heart abhors to hear him nam'd and cannot come to him, to wreak the love i bore my cousin tybalt upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! lady. find thou the means, and i'll find such a man. but now i'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. jul. and joy comes well in such a needy time. what are they, i beseech your ladyship? lady. well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; one who, to put thee from thy heaviness, hath sorted out a sudden day of joy that thou expects not nor i look'd not for. jul. madam, in happy time! what day is that? lady. marry, my child, early next thursday morn the gallant, young, and noble gentleman, the county paris, at saint peter's church, shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. jul. now by saint peter's church, and peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! i wonder at this haste, that i must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo. i pray you tell my lord and father, madam, i will not marry yet; and when i do, i swear it shall be romeo, whom you know i hate, rather than paris. these are news indeed! lady. here comes your father. tell him so yourself, and see how he will take it at your hands. enter capulet and nurse. cap. when the sun sets the air doth drizzle dew, but for the sunset of my brother's son it rains downright. how now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? evermore show'ring? in one little body thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: for still thy eyes, which i may call the sea, do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs, who, raging with thy tears and they with them, without a sudden calm will overset thy tempest-tossed body. how now, wife? have you delivered to her our decree? lady. ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. i would the fool were married to her grave! cap. soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. how? will she none? doth she not give us thanks? is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, unworthy as she is, that we have wrought so worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? jul. not proud you have, but thankful that you have. proud can i never be of what i hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love. cap. how, how, how, how, choplogic? what is this? 'proud'and 'i thank you'and 'i thank you not' and yet 'not proud'? mistress minion you, thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, but fettle your fine joints 'gainst thursday next to go with paris to saint peter's church, or i will drag thee on a hurdle thither. out, you green-sickness carrion i out, you baggage! you tallow-face! lady. fie, fie! what, are you mad? jul. good father, i beseech you on my knees, hear me with patience but to speak a word. cap. hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! i tell thee whatget thee to church a thursday or never after look me in the face. speak not, reply not, do not answer me! my fingers itch. wife, we scarce thought us blest that god had lent us but this only child; but now i see this one is one too much, and that we have a curse in having her. out on her, hilding! nurse. god in heaven bless her! you are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. cap. and why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, good prudence. smatter with your gossips, go! nurse. i speak no treason. cap. o, god-i-god-en! nurse. may not one speak? cap. peace, you mumbling fool! utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, for here we need it not. lady. you are too hot. cap. god's bread i it makes me mad. day, night, late, early, at home, abroad, alone, in company, waking or sleeping, still my care hath been to have her match'd; and having now provided a gentleman of princely parentage, of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man and then to have a wretched puling fool, a whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, to answer 'i'll not wed, i cannot love; i am too young, i pray you pardon me'! but, an you will not wed, i'll pardon you. graze where you will, you shall not house with me. look to't, think on't; i do not use to jest. thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: an you be mine, i'll give you to my friend; an you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, for, by my soul, i'll ne'er acknowledge thee, nor what is mine shall never do thee good. trust to't. bethink you. i'll not be forsworn. exit. jul. is there no pity sitting in the clouds that sees into the bottom of my grief? o sweet my mother, cast me not away! delay this marriage for a month, a week; or if you do not, make the bridal bed in that dim monument where tybalt lies. lady. talk not to me, for i'll not speak a word. do as thou wilt, for i have done with thee. exit. jul. o god!o nurse, how shall this be prevented? my husband is on earth, my faith in heaven. how shall that faith return again to earth unless that husband send it me from heaven by leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems upon so soft a subject as myself! what say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? some comfort, nurse. nurse. faith, here it is. romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing that he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; or if he do, it needs must be by stealth. then, since the case so stands as now it doth, i think it best you married with the county. o, he's a lovely gentleman! romeo's a dishclout to him. an eagle, madam, hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye as paris hath. beshrew my very heart, i think you are happy in this second match, for it excels your first; or if it did not, your first is deador 'twere as good he were as living here and you no use of him. jul. speak'st thou this from thy heart? nurse. and from my soul too; else beshrew them both. jul. amen! nurse. what? jul. well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. go in; and tell my lady i am gone, having displeas'd my father, to laurence' cell, to make confession and to be absolv'd. nurse. marry, i will; and this is wisely done. exit. jul. ancient damnation! o most wicked fiend! is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue which she hath prais'd him with above compare so many thousand times? go, counsellor! thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. i'll to the friar to know his remedy. if all else fail, myself have power to die. exit. act iv. scene i. friar laurence's cell. enter friar, [laurence] and county paris. friar. on thursday, sir? the time is very short. par. my father capulet will have it so, and i am nothing slow to slack his haste. friar. you say you do not know the lady's mind. uneven is the course; i like it not. par. immoderately she weeps for tybalt's death, and therefore have i little talk'd of love; for venus smiles not in a house of tears. now, sir, her father counts it dangerous that she do give her sorrow so much sway, and in his wisdom hastes our marriage to stop the inundation of her tears, which, too much minded by herself alone, may be put from her by society. now do you know the reason of this haste. friar. [aside] i would i knew not why it should be slow'd. look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell. enter juliet. par. happily met, my lady and my wife! jul. that may be, sir, when i may be a wife. par. that may be must be, love, on thursday next. jul. what must be shall be. friar. that's a certain text. par. come you to make confession to this father? jul. to answer that, i should confess to you. par. do not deny to him that you love me. jul. i will confess to you that i love him. par. so will ye, i am sure, that you love me. jul. if i do so, it will be of more price, being spoke behind your back, than to your face. par. poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. jul. the tears have got small victory by that, for it was bad enough before their spite. par. thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report. jul. that is no slander, sir, which is a truth; and what i spake, i spake it to my face. par. thy face is mine, and thou hast sland'red it. jul. it may be so, for it is not mine own. are you at leisure, holy father, now, or shall i come to you at evening mass friar. my leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. my lord, we must entreat the time alone. par. god shield i should disturb devotion! juliet, on thursday early will i rouse ye. till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss. exit. jul. o, shut the door! and when thou hast done so, come weep with mepast hope, past cure, past help! friar. ah, juliet, i already know thy grief; it strains me past the compass of my wits. i hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, on thursday next be married to this county. jul. tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, unless thou tell me how i may prevent it. if in thy wisdom thou canst give no help, do thou but call my resolution wise and with this knife i'll help it presently. god join'd my heart and romeo's, thou our hands; and ere this hand, by thee to romeo's seal'd, shall be the label to another deed, or my true heart with treacherous revolt turn to another, this shall slay them both. therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, give me some present counsel; or, behold, 'twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife shall play the empire, arbitrating that which the commission of thy years and art could to no issue of true honour bring. be not so long to speak. i long to die if what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. friar. hold, daughter. i do spy a kind of hope, which craves as desperate an execution as that is desperate which we would prevent. if, rather than to marry county paris thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, then is it likely thou wilt undertake a thing like death to chide away this shame, that cop'st with death himself to scape from it; and, if thou dar'st, i'll give thee remedy. jul. o, bid me leap, rather than marry paris, from off the battlements of yonder tower, or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears, or shut me nightly in a charnel house, o'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, with reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; or bid me go into a new-made grave and hide me with a dead man in his shroud things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble and i will do it without fear or doubt, to live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. friar. hold, then. go home, be merry, give consent to marry paris. wednesday is to-morrow. to-morrow night look that thou lie alone; let not the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. take thou this vial, being then in bed, and this distilled liquor drink thou off; when presently through all thy veins shall run a cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse shall keep his native progress, but surcease; no warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; the roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade to paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall like death when he shuts up the day of life; each part, depriv'd of supple government, shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; and in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours, and then awake as from a pleasant sleep. now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes to rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. then, as the manner of our country is, in thy best robes uncovered on the bier thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault where all the kindred of the capulets lie. in the mean time, against thou shalt awake, shall romeo by my letters know our drift; and hither shall he come; and he and i will watch thy waking, and that very night shall romeo bear thee hence to mantua. and this shall free thee from this present shame, if no inconstant toy nor womanish fear abate thy valour in the acting it. jul. give me, give me! o, tell not me of fear! friar. hold! get you gone, be strong and prosperous in this resolve. i'll send a friar with speed to mantua, with my letters to thy lord. jul. love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. farewell, dear father. exeunt. scene ii. capulet's house. enter father capulet, mother, nurse, and servingmen, two or three. cap. so many guests invite as here are writ. [exit a servingman.] sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. serv. you shall have none ill, sir; for i'll try if they can lick their fingers. cap. how canst thou try them so? serv. marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers. therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. cap. go, begone. exit servingman. we shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. what, is my daughter gone to friar laurence? nurse. ay, forsooth. cap. well, be may chance to do some good on her. a peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. enter juliet. nurse. see where she comes from shrift with merry look. cap. how now, my headstrong? where have you been gadding? jul. where i have learnt me to repent the sin of disobedient opposition to you and your behests, and am enjoin'd by holy laurence to fall prostrate here to beg your pardon. pardon, i beseech you! henceforward i am ever rul'd by you. cap. send for the county. go tell him of this. i'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. jul. i met the youthful lord at laurence' cell and gave him what becomed love i might, not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. cap. why, i am glad on't. this is well. stand up. this is as't should be. let me see the county. ay, marry, go, i say, and fetch him hither. now, afore god, this reverend holy friar, all our whole city is much bound to him. jul. nurse, will you go with me into my closet to help me sort such needful ornaments as you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? mother. no, not till thursday. there is time enough. cap. go, nurse, go with her. we'll to church to-morrow. exeunt juliet and nurse. mother. we shall be short in our provision. 'tis now near night. cap. tush, i will stir about, and all things shall be well, i warrant thee, wife. go thou to juliet, help to deck up her. i'll not to bed to-night; let me alone. i'll play the housewife for this once. what, ho! they are all forth; well, i will walk myself to county paris, to prepare him up against to-morrow. my heart is wondrous light, since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. exeunt. scene iii. juliet's chamber. enter juliet and nurse. jul. ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse, i pray thee leave me to myself to-night; for i have need of many orisons to move the heavens to smile upon my state, which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin. enter mother. mother. what, are you busy, ho? need you my help? jul. no, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries as are behooffull for our state to-morrow. so please you, let me now be left alone, and let the nurse this night sit up with you; for i am sure you have your hands full all in this so sudden business. mother. good night. get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. exeunt [mother and nurse.] jul. farewell! god knows when we shall meet again. i have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins that almost freezes up the heat of life. i'll call them back again to comfort me. nurse!what should she do here? my dismal scene i needs must act alone. come, vial. what if this mixture do not work at all? shall i be married then to-morrow morning? no, no! this shall forbid it. lie thou there. lays down a dagger. what if it be a poison which the friar subtilly hath minist'red to have me dead, lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd because he married me before to romeo? i fear it is; and yet methinks it should not, for he hath still been tried a holy man. i will not entertain so bad a thought. how if, when i am laid into the tomb, i wake before the time that romeo come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! shall i not then be stifled in the vault, to whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, and there die strangled ere my romeo comes? or, if i live, is it not very like the horrible conceit of death and night, together with the terror of the place as in a vault, an ancient receptacle where for this many hundred years the bones of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; where bloody tybalt, yet but green in earth, lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say, at some hours in the night spirits resort alack, alack, is it not like that i, so early wakingwhat with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad o, if i wake, shall i not be distraught, environed with all these hideous fears, and madly play with my forefathers' joints, and pluck the mangled tybalt from his shroud., and, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone as with a club dash out my desp'rate brains? o, look! methinks i see my cousin's ghost seeking out romeo, that did spit his body upon a rapier's point. stay, tybalt, stay! romeo, i come! this do i drink to thee. she [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the curtains. scene iv. capulet's house. enter lady of the house and nurse. lady. hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse. nurse. they call for dates and quinces in the pastry. enter old capulet. cap. come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, the curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock. look to the bak'd meats, good angelica; spare not for cost. nurse. go, you cot-quean, go, get you to bed! faith, you'll be sick to-morrow for this night's watching. cap. no, not a whit. what, i have watch'd ere now all night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. lady. ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; but i will watch you from such watching now. exeunt lady and nurse. cap. a jealous hood, a jealous hood! enter three or four [fellows, with spits and logs and baskets. what is there? now, fellow, fellow. things for the cook, sir; but i know not what. cap. make haste, make haste. [exit fellow.] sirrah, fetch drier logs. call peter; he will show thee where they are. fellow. i have a head, sir, that will find out logs and never trouble peter for the matter. cap. mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! thou shalt be loggerhead. [exit fellow.] good faith, 'tis day. the county will be here with music straight, for so he said he would. play music. i hear him near. nurse! wife! what, ho! what, nurse, i say! enter nurse. go waken juliet; go and trim her up. i'll go and chat with paris. hie, make haste, make haste! the bridegroom he is come already: make haste, i say. [exeunt.] scene v. juliet's chamber. [enter nurse.] nurse. mistress! what, mistress! juliet! fast, i warrant her, she. why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-abed! why, love, i say! madam! sweetheart! why, bride! what, not a word? you take your pennyworths now! sleep for a week; for the next night, i warrant, the county paris hath set up his rest that you shall rest but little. god forgive me! marry, and amen. how sound is she asleep! i needs must wake her. madam, madam, madam! ay, let the county take you in your bed! he'll fright you up, i' faith. will it not be? [draws aside the curtains.] what, dress'd, and in your clothes, and down again? i must needs wake you. lady! lady! lady! alas, alas! help, help! my lady's dead! o weraday that ever i was born! some aqua-vitae, ho! my lord! my lady! enter mother. mother. what noise is here? nurse. o lamentable day! mother. what is the matter? nurse. look, look! o heavy day! mother. o me, o me! my child, my only life! revive, look up, or i will die with thee! help, help! call help. enter father. father. for shame, bring juliet forth; her lord is come. nurse. she's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! alack the day! mother. alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! cap. ha! let me see her. out alas! she's cold, her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; life and these lips have long been separated. death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field. nurse. o lamentable day! mother. o woful time! cap. death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, ties up my tongue and will not let me speak. enter friar [laurence] and the county [paris], with musicians. friar. come, is the bride ready to go to church? cap. ready to go, but never to return. o son, the night before thy wedding day hath death lain with thy wife. see, there she lies, flower as she was, deflowered by him. death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; my daughter he hath wedded. i will die and leave him all. life, living, all is death's. par. have i thought long to see this morning's face, and doth it give me such a sight as this? mother. accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! most miserable hour that e'er time saw in lasting labour of his pilgrimage! but one, poor one, one poor and loving child, but one thing to rejoice and solace in, and cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! nurse. o woe? o woful, woful, woful day! most lamentable day, most woful day that ever ever i did yet behold! o day! o day! o day! o hateful day! never was seen so black a day as this. o woful day! o woful day! par. beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, by cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! o love! o life! not life, but love in death cap. despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now to murther, murther our solemnity? o child! o child! my soul, and not my child! dead art thou, dead! alack, my child is dead, and with my child my joys are buried! friar. peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not in these confusions. heaven and yourself had part in this fair maid! now heaven hath all, and all the better is it for the maid. your part in her you could not keep from death, but heaven keeps his part in eternal life. the most you sought was her promotion, for 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd; and weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? o, in this love, you love your child so ill that you run mad, seeing that she is well. she's not well married that lives married long, but she's best married that dies married young. dry up your tears and stick your rosemary on this fair corse, and, as the custom is, in all her best array bear her to church; for though fond nature bids us all lament, yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. cap. all things that we ordained festival turn from their office to black funeral our instruments to melancholy bells, our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse; and all things change them to the contrary. friar. sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; and go, sir paris. every one prepare to follow this fair corse unto her grave. the heavens do low'r upon you for some ill; move them no more by crossing their high will. exeunt. manent musicians [and nurse]. 1. mus. faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. nurse. honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up! for well you know this is a pitiful case. [exit.] 1. mus. ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. enter peter. pet. musicians, o, musicians, 'heart's ease,' 'heart's ease'! o, an you will have me live, play 'heart's ease.' 1. mus. why 'heart's ease'', pet. o, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'my heart is full of woe.' o, play me some merry dump to comfort me. 1. mus. not a dump we! 'tis no time to play now. pet. you will not then? 1. mus. no. pet. i will then give it you soundly. 1. mus. what will you give us? pet. no money, on my faith, but the gleek. i will give you the minstrel. 1. mus. then will i give you the serving-creature. pet. then will i lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. i will carry no crotchets. i'll re you, i'll fa you. do you note me? 1. mus. an you re us and fa us, you note us. 2. mus. pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. pet. then have at you with my wit! i will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. answer me like men. 'when griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind oppress, then music with her silver sound' why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? what say you, simon catling? 1. mus. marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. pet. pretty! what say you, hugh rebeck? 2. mus. i say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver. pet. pretty too! what say you, james soundpost? 3. mus. faith, i know not what to say. pet. o, i cry you mercy! you are the singer. i will say for you. it is 'music with her silver sound' because musicians have no gold for sounding. 'then music with her silver sound with speedy help doth lend redress.' [exit. 1. mus. what a pestilent knave is this same? 2. mus. hang him, jack! come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. exeunt. act v. scene i. mantua. a street. enter romeo. rom. if i may trust the flattering truth of sleep my dreams presage some joyful news at hand. my bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, and all this day an unaccustom'd spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. i dreamt my lady came and found me dead (strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!) and breath'd such life with kisses in my lips that i reviv'd and was an emperor. ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, when but love's shadows are so rich in joy! enter romeo's man balthasar, booted. news from verona! how now, balthasar? dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? how doth my lady? is my father well? how fares my juliet? that i ask again, for nothing can be ill if she be well. man. then she is well, and nothing can be ill. her body sleeps in capel's monument, and her immortal part with angels lives. i saw her laid low in her kindred's vault and presently took post to tell it you. o, pardon me for bringing these ill news, since you did leave it for my office, sir. rom. is it e'en so? then i defy you, stars! thou knowest my lodging. get me ink and paper and hire posthorses. i will hence to-night. man. i do beseech you, sir, have patience. your looks are pale and wild and do import some misadventure. rom. tush, thou art deceiv'd. leave me and do the thing i bid thee do. hast thou no letters to me from the friar? man. no, my good lord. rom. no matter. get thee gone and hire those horses. i'll be with thee straight. exit [balthasar]. well, juliet, i will lie with thee to-night. let's see for means. o mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men! i do remember an apothecary, and hereabouts 'a dwells, which late i noted in tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows, culling of simples. meagre were his looks, sharp misery had worn him to the bones; and in his needy shop a tortoise hung, an alligator stuff'd, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves a beggarly account of empty boxes, green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses were thinly scattered, to make up a show. noting this penury, to myself i said, 'an if a man did need a poison now whose sale is present death in mantua, here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' o, this same thought did but forerun my need, and this same needy man must sell it me. as i remember, this should be the house. being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. what, ho! apothecary! enter apothecary. apoth. who calls so loud? rom. come hither, man. i see that thou art poor. hold, there is forty ducats. let me have a dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear as will disperse itself through all the veins that the life-weary taker mall fall dead, and that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath as violently as hasty powder fir'd doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. apoth. such mortal drugs i have; but mantua's law is death to any he that utters them. rom. art thou so bare and full of wretchedness and fearest to die? famine is in thy cheeks, need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back: the world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; the world affords no law to make thee rich; then be not poor, but break it and take this. apoth. my poverty but not my will consents. rom. i pay thy poverty and not thy will. apoth. put this in any liquid thing you will and drink it off, and if you had the strength of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. rom. there is thy goldworse poison to men's souls, doing more murther in this loathsome world, than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. i sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. farewell. buy food and get thyself in flesh. come, cordial and not poison, go with me to juliet's grave; for there must i use thee. exeunt. scene ii. verona. friar laurence's cell. enter friar john to friar laurence. john. holy franciscan friar, brother, ho! enter friar laurence. laur. this same should be the voice of friar john. welcome from mantua. what says romeo? or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. john. going to find a barefoot brother out, one of our order, to associate me here in this city visiting the sick, and finding him, the searchers of the town, suspecting that we both were in a house where the infectious pestilence did reign, seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth, so that my speed to mantua there was stay'd. laur. who bare my letter, then, to romeo? john. i could not send ithere it is again nor get a messenger to bring it thee, so fearful were they of infection. laur. unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, the letter was not nice, but full of charge, of dear import; and the neglecting it may do much danger. friar john, go hence, get me an iron crow and bring it straight unto my cell. john. brother, i'll go and bring it thee. exit. laur. now, must i to the monument alone. within this three hours will fair juliet wake. she will beshrew me much that romeo hath had no notice of these accidents; but i will write again to mantua, and keep her at my cell till romeo come poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! exit. scene iii. verona. a churchyard; in it the monument of the capulets. enter paris and his page with flowers and [a torch]. par. give me thy torch, boy. hence, and stand aloof. yet put it out, for i would not be seen. under yond yew tree lay thee all along, holding thine ear close to the hollow ground. so shall no foot upon the churchyard tread (being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves) but thou shalt hear it. whistle then to me, as signal that thou hear'st something approach. give me those flowers. do as i bid thee, go. page. [aside] i am almost afraid to stand alone here in the churchyard; yet i will adventure. [retires.] par. sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed i strew (o woe! thy canopy is dust and stones) which with sweet water nightly i will dew; or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans. the obsequies that i for thee will keep nightly shall be to strew, thy grave and weep. whistle boy. the boy gives warning something doth approach. what cursed foot wanders this way to-night to cross my obsequies and true love's rite? what, with a torch? muffle me, night, awhile. [retires.] enter romeo, and balthasar with a torch, a mattock, and a crow of iron. rom. give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. hold, take this letter. early in the morning see thou deliver it to my lord and father. give me the light. upon thy life i charge thee, whate'er thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof and do not interrupt me in my course. why i descend into this bed of death is partly to behold my lady's face, but chiefly to take thence from her dead finger a precious ringa ring that i must use in dear employment. therefore hence, be gone. but if thou, jealous, dost return to pry in what i farther shall intend to do, by heaven, i will tear thee joint by joint and strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs. the time and my intents are savage-wild, more fierce and more inexorable far than empty tigers or the roaring sea. bal. i will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. rom. so shalt thou show me friendship. take thou that. live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. bal. [aside] for all this same, i'll hide me hereabout. his looks i fear, and his intents i doubt. [retires.] rom. thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, thus i enforce thy rotten jaws to open, and in despite i'll cram thee with more food. romeo opens the tomb. par. this is that banish'd haughty montague that murd'red my love's cousinwith which grief it is supposed the fair creature died and here is come to do some villanous shame to the dead bodies. i will apprehend him. stop thy unhallowed toil, vile montague! can vengeance be pursu'd further than death? condemned villain, i do apprehend thee. obey, and go with me; for thou must die. rom. i must indeed; and therefore came i hither. good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man. fly hence and leave me. think upon these gone; let them affright thee. i beseech thee, youth, but not another sin upon my head by urging me to fury. o, be gone! by heaven, i love thee better than myself, for i come hither arm'd against myself. stay not, be gone. live, and hereafter say a madman's mercy bid thee run away. par. i do defy thy, conjuration and apprehend thee for a felon here. rom. wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! they fight. page. o lord, they fight! i will go call the watch. [exit. paris falls.] par. o, i am slain! if thou be merciful, open the tomb, lay me with juliet. [dies.] rom. in faith, i will. let me peruse this face. mercutio's kinsman, noble county paris! what said my man when my betossed soul did not attend him as we rode? i think he told me paris should have married juliet. said he not so? or did i dream it so? or am i mad, hearing him talk of juliet to think it was so? o, give me thy hand, one writ with me in sour misfortune's book! i'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. a grave? o, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth, for here lies juliet, and her beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light. death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. [lays him in the tomb.] how oft when men are at the point of death have they been merry! which their keepers call a lightning before death. o, how may i call this a lightning? o my love! my wife! death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. thou art not conquer'd. beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, and death's pale flag is not advanced there. tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? o, what more favour can i do to thee than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain to sunder his that was thine enemy? forgive me, cousin.' ah, dear juliet, why art thou yet so fair? shall i believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? for fear of that i still will stay with thee and never from this palace of dim night depart again. here, here will i remain with worms that are thy chambermaids. o, here will i set up my everlasting rest and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. eyes, look your last! arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, o you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death! come, bitter conduct; come, unsavoury guide! thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! here's to my love! [drinks.] o true apothecary! thy drugs are quick. thus with a kiss i die. falls. enter friar [laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade. friar. saint francis be my speed! how oft to-night have my old feet stumbled at graves! who's there? bal. here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. friar. bliss be upon you! tell me, good my friend, what torch is yond that vainly lends his light to grubs and eyeless skulls? as i discern, it burneth in the capels' monument. bal. it doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, one that you love. friar. who is it? bal. romeo. friar. how long hath he been there? bal. full half an hour. friar. go with me to the vault. bal. i dare not, sir. my master knows not but i am gone hence, and fearfully did menace me with death if i did stay to look on his intents. friar. stay then; i'll go alone. fear comes upon me. o, much i fear some ill unthrifty thing. bal. as i did sleep under this yew tree here, i dreamt my master and another fought, and that my master slew him. friar. romeo! alack, alack, what blood is this which stains the stony entrance of this sepulchre? what mean these masterless and gory swords to lie discolour'd by this place of peace? [enters the tomb.] romeo! o, pale! who else? what, paris too? and steep'd in blood? ah, what an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance! the lady stirs. juliet rises. jul. o comfortable friar! where is my lord? i do remember well where i should be, and there i am. where is my romeo? friar. i hear some noise. lady, come from that nest of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. a greater power than we can contradict hath thwarted our intents. come, come away. thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; and paris too. come, i'll dispose of thee among a sisterhood of holy nuns. stay not to question, for the watch is coming. come, go, good juliet. i dare no longer stay. jul. go, get thee hence, for i will not away. exit [friar]. what's here? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand? poison, i see, hath been his timeless end. o churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? i will kiss thy lips. haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with a restorative. [kisses him.] thy lips are warm! chief watch. [within] lead, boy. which way? yea, noise? then i'll be brief. o happy dagger! [snatches romeo's dagger.] this is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die. she stabs herself and falls [on romeo's body]. enter [paris's] boy and watch. boy. this is the place. there, where the torch doth burn. chief watch. 'the ground is bloody. search about the churchyard. go, some of you; whoe'er you find attach. [exeunt some of the watch.] pitiful sight! here lies the county slain; and juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, who here hath lain this two days buried. go, tell the prince; run to the capulets; raise up the montagues; some others search. [exeunt others of the watch.] we see the ground whereon these woes do lie, but the true ground of all these piteous woes we cannot without circumstance descry. enter [some of the watch,] with romeo's man [balthasar]. 2. watch. here's romeo's man. we found him in the churchyard. chief watch. hold him in safety till the prince come hither. enter friar [laurence] and another watchman. 3. watch. here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps. we took this mattock and this spade from him as he was coming from this churchyard side. chief watch. a great suspicion! stay the friar too. enter the prince [and attendants]. prince. what misadventure is so early up, that calls our person from our morning rest? enter capulet and his wife [with others]. cap. what should it be, that they so shriek abroad? wife. the people in the street cry 'romeo,' some 'juliet,' and some 'paris'; and all run, with open outcry, toward our monument. prince. what fear is this which startles in our ears? chief watch. sovereign, here lies the county paris slain; and romeo dead; and juliet, dead before, warm and new kill'd. prince. search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. chief watch. here is a friar, and slaughter'd romeo's man, with instruments upon them fit to open these dead men's tombs. cap. o heavens! o wife, look how our daughter bleeds! this dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house is empty on the back of montague, and it missheathed in my daughter's bosom! wife. o me! this sight of death is as a bell that warns my old age to a sepulchre. enter montague [and others]. prince. come, montague; for thou art early up to see thy son and heir more early down. mon. alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night! grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath. what further woe conspires against mine age? prince. look, and thou shalt see. mon. o thou untaught! what manners is in this, to press before thy father to a grave? prince. seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, till we can clear these ambiguities and know their spring, their head, their true descent; and then will i be general of your woes and lead you even to death. meantime forbear, and let mischance be slave to patience. bring forth the parties of suspicion. friar. i am the greatest, able to do least, yet most suspected, as the time and place doth make against me, of this direful murther; and here i stand, both to impeach and purge myself condemned and myself excus'd. prince. then say it once what thou dost know in this. friar. i will be brief, for my short date of breath is not so long as is a tedious tale. romeo, there dead, was husband to that juliet; and she, there dead, that romeo's faithful wife. i married them; and their stol'n marriage day was tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; for whom, and not for tybalt, juliet pin'd. you, to remove that siege of grief from her, betroth'd and would have married her perforce to county paris. then comes she to me and with wild looks bid me devise some mean to rid her from this second marriage, or in my cell there would she kill herself. then gave i her (so tutored by my art) a sleeping potion; which so took effect as i intended, for it wrought on her the form of death. meantime i writ to romeo that he should hither come as this dire night to help to take her from her borrowed grave, being the time the potion's force should cease. but he which bore my letter, friar john, was stay'd by accident, and yesternight return'd my letter back. then all alone at the prefixed hour of her waking came i to take her from her kindred's vault; meaning to keep her closely at my cell till i conveniently could send to romeo. but when i came, some minute ere the time of her awaking, here untimely lay the noble paris and true romeo dead. she wakes; and i entreated her come forth and bear this work of heaven with patience; but then a noise did scare me from the tomb, and she, too desperate, would not go with me, but, as it seems, did violence on herself. all this i know, and to the marriage her nurse is privy; and if aught in this miscarried by my fault, let my old life be sacrific'd, some hour before his time, unto the rigour of severest law. prince. we still have known thee for a holy man. where's romeo's man? what can he say in this? bal. i brought my master news of juliet's death; and then in post he came from mantua to this same place, to this same monument. this letter he early bid me give his father, and threat'ned me with death, going in the vault, if i departed not and left him there. prince. give me the letter. i will look on it. where is the county's page that rais'd the watch? sirrah, what made your master in this place? boy. he came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; and bid me stand aloof, and so i did. anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; and by-and-by my master drew on him; and then i ran away to call the watch. prince. this letter doth make good the friar's words, their course of love, the tidings of her death; and here he writes that he did buy a poison of a poor pothecary, and therewithal came to this vault to die, and lie with juliet. where be these enemies? capulet, montage, see what a scourge is laid upon your hate, that heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! and i, for winking at you, discords too, have lost a brace of kinsmen. all are punish'd. cap. o brother montague, give me thy hand. this is my daughter's jointure, for no more can i demand. mon. but i can give thee more; for i will raise her statue in pure gold, that whiles verona by that name is known, there shall no figure at such rate be set as that of true and faithful juliet. cap. as rich shall romeo's by his lady's lie poor sacrifices of our enmity! prince. a glooming peace this morning with it brings. the sun for sorrow will not show his head. go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; some shall be pardon'd, and some punished; for never was a story of more woe than this of juliet and her romeo. exeunt omnes. the end [transcriber's note: this text of _two gentlemen of verona_ is from volume i of the nine-volume 1863 cambridge edition of shakespeare. the preface (e-text 23041) and the other plays from this volume are each available as separate e-texts. general notes are in their original location at the end of the play. text-critical notes are grouped at the end of each scene. all line numbers are from the original text; line breaks in dialogue--including prose passages--are unchanged. brackets are also unchanged; to avoid ambiguity, footnotes and linenotes are given without added brackets. in the notes, numerals printed as subscripts are shown inline as f1, f2, q1.... texts cited in the notes are listed at the end of the e-text.] the works of william shakespeare edited by william george clark, m.a. fellow and tutor of trinity college, and public orator in the university of cambridge; and john glover, m.a. librarian of trinity college, cambridge. _volume i._ cambridge and london: macmillan and co. 1863. the two gentlemen of verona. dramatis personæ[1]. duke of milan[2], father to silvia. valentine, } proteus[3], } the two gentlemen. antonio[4], father to proteus. thurio, a foolish rival to valentine. eglamour, agent for silvia in her escape. host, where julia lodges. outlaws, with valentine. speed, a clownish servant to valentine. launce, the like to proteus. panthino[5], servant to antonio. julia, beloved of proteus. silvia, beloved of valentine. lucetta, waiting-woman to julia. servants, musicians[6]. scene, _verona; milan; the frontiers of mantua[7]_. footnotes: 1: dramatis personæ.] the names of all the actors f1, at the end of the play. 2: of milan] added by pope. 3: proteus] steevens. protheus ff. see note (i). 4: antonio] capell. anthonio ff. 5: panthino] capell. panthion ff. see note (i). 6: _servants, musicians_] theobald. 7: scene ...] pope and hanmer. the two gentlemen of verona. act i. scene i. _verona. an open place._ _enter valentine and proteus._ _val._ 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 5 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. 10 _pro._ 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, 15 if ever danger do environ thee, commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, for i will be thy beadsman, valentine. _val._ and on a love-book pray for my success? _pro._ upon some book i love i'll pray for thee. 20 _val._ that's on some shallow story of deep love: how young leander cross'd the hellespont. _pro._ that's a deep story of a deeper love; for he was more than over shoes in love. _val._ 'tis true; for you are over boots in love, 25 and yet you never swum the hellespont. _pro._ over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. _val._ no, i will not, for it boots thee not. _pro._ what? _val._ to be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth 30 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. 35 _pro._ so, by your circumstance, you call me fool. _val._ so, by your circumstance, i fear you'll prove. _pro._ 'tis love you cavil at: i am not love. _val._ love is your master, for he masters you: and he that is so yoked by a fool, 40 methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. _pro._ yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud the eating canker dwells, so eating love inhabits in the finest wits of all. _val._ and writers say, as the most forward bud 45 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. 50 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. _pro._ and thither will i bring thee, valentine. 55 _val._ 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 i likewise will visit thee with mine. 60 _pro._ all happiness bechance to thee in milan! _val._ as much to you at home! and so, farewell. [_exit._ _pro._ he after honour hunts, i after love: he leaves his friends to dignify them more; i leave myself, my friends, and all, for love. 65 thou, julia, thou hast metamorphosed 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._ _speed._ sir proteus, save you! saw you my master? 70 _pro._ but now he parted hence, to embark for milan. _speed._ twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, and i have play'd the sheep in losing him. _pro._ indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, an if the shepherd be awhile away. 75 _speed._ you conclude that my master is a shepherd, then, and i a sheep? _pro._ i do. _speed._ why then, my horns are his horns, whether i wake or sleep. 80 _pro._ a silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. _speed._ this proves me still a sheep. _pro._ true; and thy master a shepherd. _speed._ nay, that i can deny by a circumstance. _pro._ it shall go hard but i'll prove it by another. 85 _speed._ 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. _pro._ the sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for wages 90 followest thy master; thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep. _speed._ such another proof will make me cry 'baa.' _pro._ but, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to julia? 95 _speed._ 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. _pro._ here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. _speed._ if the ground be overcharged, you were best 100 stick her. _pro._ nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you. _speed._ nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. _pro._ you mistake; i mean the pound,--a pinfold. 105 _speed._ from a pound to a pin? fold it over and over, 'tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. _pro._ but what said she? _speed._ [_first nodding_] ay. _pro._ nod--ay--why, that's noddy. 110 _speed._ you mistook, sir; i say, she did nod: and you ask me if she did nod; and i say, 'ay.' _pro._ and that set together is noddy. _speed._ now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. 115 _pro._ no, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. _speed._ well, i perceive i must be fain to bear with you. _pro._ why, sir, how do you bear with me? _speed._ marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the word 'noddy' for my pains. 120 _pro._ beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. _speed._ and yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. _pro._ come, come, open the matter in brief: what said she? _speed._ open your purse, that the money and the matter 125 may be both at once delivered. _pro._ well, sir, here is for your pains. what said she? _speed._ truly, sir, i think you'll hardly win her. _pro._ why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? _speed._ sir, i could perceive nothing at all from her; 130 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. _pro._ what said she? nothing? 135 _speed._ 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. _pro._ go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, 140 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._ 145 notes: i, 1. 8: _with_] _in_ capell. 19: _my_] f1. _thy_ f2 f3 f4. 21-28: put in the margin as spurious by pope. 25: _for_] _but_ collier ms. 28: _thee_] om. s. walker conj. see note (ii). 30: _fading_] om. hanmer. 48: _blasting_] _blasted_ collier ms. 57: _to_] f1. _at_ f2 f3 f4. _to milan!--let me hear_ malone conj. 65: _leave_] pope. _love_ ff. 69: _made_] _make_ johnson conj. 70: scene ii. pope. 70-144: put in the margin by pope. 77: _a_] f2 f3 f4. om. f1. 89: _follow_] _follows_ pope. 102: _astray_] _a stray_ theobald (thirlby conj.) _nay: ... astray,_] edd. _nay, ... astray:_ ff. 105: _a_] _the_ delius (capell conj.). 108, 109: pro. _but what said she?_ speed. [first nodding] _ay._] edd. pro. _but what said she?_ sp. _i._ ff. pro. _but what said she?_ speed. _she nodded and said i._ pope. pro. _but what said she? did she nod?_ [speed nods] speed. _i._ theobald. pro. _but what said she?_ [speed _nods_] _did she nod?_ speed. _i._ capell. 110: _nod--ay--_] _nod--i,_ ff. 111, 112: _say ... say_] f1. _said ... said_ f2 f3 f4. 126: _at once_] f1. om. f2 f3 f4. 130-134: printed as verse in ff. 130: _from her_] _from her better_ collier ms. to rhyme with _letter_ in the next line. 132: _brought_] _brought to her_ collier ms. 133: _your_] f1. _her_ f2 f3 f4. _you her_ collier ms. 135: _what said she? nothing?_] _what said she, nothing?_ ff. _what, said she nothing?_ pope. 137: _as 'take ... i thank you_] _as 'i thank you; take ..._ edd. conj. _testerned_] f2 f3 f4. _cestern'd_ f1. 138: _henceforth_] f1 f3 f4. _hencefore_ f2. _letters_] f1. _letter_ f2 f3 f4. scene ii. _the same. garden of julia's house._ _enter julia and lucetta._ _jul._ but say, lucetta, now we are alone, wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love? _luc._ ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully. _jul._ of all the fair resort of gentlemen that every day with parle encounter me, 5 in thy opinion which is worthiest love? _luc._ please you repeat their names, i'll show my mind according to my shallow simple skill. _jul._ what think'st thou of the fair sir eglamour? _luc._ as of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 10 but, were i you, he never should be mine. _jul._ what think'st thou of the rich mercatio? _luc._ well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. _jul._ what think'st thou of the gentle proteus? _luc._ lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! 15 _jul._ how now! what means this passion at his name? _luc._ pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame that i, unworthy body as i am, should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. _jul._ why not on proteus, as of all the rest? 20 _luc._ then thus,--of many good i think him best. _jul._ your reason? _luc._ i have no other but a woman's reason; i think him so, because i think him so. _jul._ and wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? 25 _luc._ ay, if you thought your love not cast away. _jul._ why, he, of all the rest, hath never moved me. _luc._ yet he, of all the rest, i think, best loves ye. _jul._ his little speaking shows his love but small. _luc._ fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 30 _jul._ they do not love that do not show their love. _luc._ o, they love least that let men know their love. _jul._ i would i knew his mind. _luc._ peruse this paper, madam. _jul._ 'to julia.'--say, from whom? 35 _luc._ that the contents will show. _jul._ say, say, who gave it thee? _luc._ sir 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. 40 _jul._ 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. 45 there, take the paper: see it be return'd; or else return no more into my sight. _luc._ to plead for love deserves more fee than hate. _jul._ will ye be gone? _luc._ that you may ruminate. [_exit._ _jul._ and yet i would i had o'erlook'd the letter: 50 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 55 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, 60 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. 65 what, ho! lucetta! _re-enter lucetta._ _luc._ what would your ladyship? _jul._ is't near dinner-time? _luc._ i would it were; that you might kill your stomach on your meat, and not upon your maid. _jul._ what is't that you took up so gingerly? 70 _luc._ nothing. _jul._ why didst thou stoop, then? _luc._ to take a paper up that i let fall. _jul._ and is that paper nothing? _luc._ nothing concerning me. 75 _jul._ then let it lie for those that it concerns. _luc._ madam, it will not lie where it concerns, unless it have a false interpreter. _jul._ some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. _luc._ that i might sing it, madam, to a tune. 80 give me a note: your ladyship can set. _jul._ --as little by such toys as may be possible. best sing it to the tune of 'light o' love.' _luc._ it is too heavy for so light a tune. _jul._ heavy! belike it hath some burden, then? 85 _luc._ ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. _jul._ and why not you? _luc._ i cannot reach so high. _jul._ let's see your song. how now, minion! _luc._ keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: and yet methinks i do not like this tune. 90 _jul._ you do not? _luc._ no, madam; it is too sharp. _jul._ you, minion, are too saucy. _luc._ nay, now you are too flat, and mar the concord with too harsh a descant: there wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 95 _jul._ the mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. _luc._ indeed, i bid the base for proteus. _jul._ 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: 100 you would be fingering them, to anger me. _luc._ she makes it strange; but she would be best pleased to be so anger'd with another letter. [_exit._ _jul._ nay, would i were so anger'd with the same! o hateful hands, to tear such loving words! 105 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, 110 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 throughly heal'd; 115 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 120 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.- 125 and yet i will not, sith so prettily he couples it to his complaining names. thus will i fold them one upon another: now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. _re-enter lucetta._ _luc._ madam, 130 dinner is ready, and your father stays. _jul._ well, let us go. _luc._ what, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? _jul._ if you respect them, best to take them up. _luc._ nay, i was taken up for laying them down: 135 yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. _jul._ i see you have a month's mind to them. _luc._ ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; i see things too, although you judge i wink. _jul._ come, come; will't please you go? [_exeunt._ 140 notes: i, 2. scene ii.] scene iii. pope. garden &c.] malone. changes to julia's chamber. pope. 1: _now we are_] f1. _now are we_ f2 f3 f4. 5: _parle_] _par'le_ ff. 15: _reigns_] _feigns_ anon. conj. 18: _am_] _can_ collier ms. 19: _censure ... gentlemen_] _censure on a lovely gentleman_ s. verges conj. _censure on this lovely gentleman_ edd. conj. _thus_] _pass_ hanmer. _on lovely gentlemen_] _a lovely gentleman_ pope. _a loving gentleman_ collier ms. 20: _of_] _on_ s. verges conj. 30: _fire_] ff. _the fire_ pope. _that's_] _that is_ johnson. 39: _being in the way_] _being by_ pope. 40: _pardon the fault, i pray_] _pardon me_ pope. 53: _what a fool_] _what 'foole_ f1 f2 f3. _what fool_ f4. see note (iii). 67: _is't_] _is it_ capell. _near_] om. boswell. 81: f1 omits the stop after _set_. 83: _o' love_] theobald. _o, love_ f1 f2. _o love_ f3 f4. 88: _how now_] _why, how now_ hanmer. after this line hanmer adds a stage direction [gives her a box on the ear]. 96: _your_] _you_ f1. 99: [tears the letter.] [tears it. pope. 102: _best pleased_] _pleased better_ collier ms. 103: [exit] f2. 121: _fearful-hanging_] delius. _fearful, hanging_ ff. 130, 131: _madam, dinner is_] _madam, dinner's_ capell conj. 137: _to_] _unto_ collier ms. _them._] _them, minion._ hanmer. 138: _say what sights you see_] _see what sights you think_ collier ms. scene iii. _the same. antonio's house._ _enter antonio and panthino._ _ant._ tell me, panthino, what sad talk was that wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? _pan._ 'twas of his nephew proteus, your son. _ant._ why, what of him? _pan._ he wonder'd that your lordship would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 5 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. 10 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, 15 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, 20 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? _pan._ i think your lordship is not ignorant 25 how his companion, youthful valentine, attends the emperor in his royal court. _ant._ i know it well. _pan._ 'twere good, i think, your lordship sent him thither: there shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 30 hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, and be in eye of every exercise worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. _ant._ i like thy counsel; well hast thou advised: and that thou mayst perceive how well i like it 35 the execution of it shall make known. even with the speediest expedition i will dispatch him to the emperor's court. _pan._ to-morrow, may it please you, don alphonso, with other gentlemen of good esteem, 40 are journeying to salute the emperor, and to commend their service to his will. _ant._ good company; with them shall proteus go: and, in good time! now will we break with him. _enter proteus._ _pro._ sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! 45 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! 50 _ant._ how now! what letter are you reading there? _pro._ may't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two of commendations sent from valentine, deliver'd by a friend that came from him. _ant._ lend me the letter; let me see what news. 55 _pro._ 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. _ant._ and how stand you affected to his wish? 60 _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. 65 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: 70 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. 75 come on, panthino: you shall be employ'd to hasten on his expedition. [_exeunt ant. and pan._ _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, 80 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, 85 which now shows all the beauty of the sun, and by and by a cloud takes all away! _re-enter panthino._ _pan._ 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, 90 and yet a thousand times it answers 'no.' [_exeunt._ notes: i, 3. scene iii.] scene iv. pope. antonio's house.] theobald. 1: _panthino_] f1 f2. _panthion_ f3 f4. 21: _and_] f1. _nor_ f2 f3 f4. 24: _whither_] f2 f3 f4. _whether_ f1. 44: _and, in good time!_] _and in good time:_ f1. _and in good time,_ f2 f3 f4. _and,--in good time:_--dyce. 44: enter proteus] f2. 45: _sweet life_] _sweet life! sweet julia_ capell. 49: _to_] _and_ collier ms. 65: _there_] f1 f2. _there's_ f3 f4. 67: _valentinus_] f1. _valentino_ f2 f3 f4. _valentine_ warburton. 77: [exeunt ant. and pan.]. rowe. 84: _resembleth_] _resembleth well_ pope. _resembleth right_ johnson conj. 86: _sun_] _light_ johnson conj. 88: re-enter panthino.] om. f1. enter. f2. _father_] _fathers_ f1. 91: [exeunt.] exeunt. finis. ff. act ii. scene i. _milan. 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! 5 _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. 10 _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? 15 _speed._ marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like sir proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malecontent; 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 20 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 25 dinner; when you looked 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. 30 _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 35 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. 40 _val._ dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not? _speed._ is she not hard-favoured, sir? _val._ not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. _speed._ sir, i know that well enough. 45 _val._ what dost thou know? _speed._ that she is not so fair as, of you, well favoured. _val._ i mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. _speed._ that's because the one is painted, and the other 50 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 esteemest thou me? i account of her beauty. 55 _speed._ you never saw her since she was deformed. _val._ how long hath she been deformed? _speed._ ever since you loved her. _val._ i have loved her ever since i saw her; and still i see her beautiful. 60 _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! 65 _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 70 you could not see to wipe my shoes. _speed._ 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. _val._ in conclusion, i stand affected to her. 75 _speed._ i would you were set, so your affection would cease. _val._ last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. _speed._ and have you? 80 _val._ i have. _speed._ are they not lamely writ? _val._ no, boy, but as well as i can do them. peace! here she comes. _speed._ [_aside_] o excellent motion! o exceeding puppet! 85 now will he interpret to her. _enter silvia._ _val._ madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows. _speed._ [_aside_] o, give ye good even! here's a million of manners. _sil._ sir valentine and servant, to you two thousand. 90 _speed._ [_aside_] he should give her interest, and she gives it him. _val._ 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, 95 but for my duty to your ladyship. _sil._ i thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done. _val._ now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; for, being ignorant to whom it goes, i writ at random, very doubtfully. 100 _sil._ perchance you think too much of so much pains? _val._ no, madam; so it stead you, i will write, please you command, a thousand times as much; and yet-_sil._ a pretty period! well, i guess the sequel; 105 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. _speed._ [_aside_] and yet you will; and yet another 'yet.' _val._ what means your ladyship? do you not like it? 110 _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; 115 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. 120 _val._ if it please me, madam, what then? _sil._ why, if it please you, take it for your labour: and so, good morrow, servant. [_exit._ _speed._ o jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, as a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! 125 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? _val._ how now, sir? what are you reasoning with 130 yourself? _speed._ nay. i was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. _val._ to do what? _speed._ to be a spokesman for madam silvia. 135 _val._ to whom? _speed._ to yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. _val._ what figure? _speed._ by a letter, i should say. _val._ why, she hath not writ to me? 140 _speed._ what need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? why, do you not perceive the jest? _val._ no, believe me. _speed._ no believing you, indeed, sir. but did you perceive her earnest? 145 _val._ she gave me none, except an angry word. _speed._ why, she hath given you a letter. _val._ that's the letter i writ to her friend. _speed._ and that letter hath she delivered, and there an end. 150 _val._ i would it were no worse. _speed._ 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, 155 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. _val._ i have dined. _speed._ ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon 160 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._ notes: ii, 1. 19: _had_] _hath_ collier ms. 21: _buried_] f1. _lost_ f2 f3 f4. 27: _you are_] _you are so_ collier ms. 32: _without you?_] _without you!_ dyce. 33: _would_] _would be_ collier ms. 41: _my_] f1 f2. om. f3 f4. 68, 69: see note (iv). 76: _set,_] _set;_ malone. 85, 88, 91: [aside] capell. 91: speed.] f1 f4. sil. f2 f3. 96: _for_] om. f3 f4. 102: _stead_] _steed_ ff. 106: _name it_] _name 't_ capell. _and yet_] _yet_ pope. 109: [aside] rowe. 114: _for_] _writ for_ anon. conj. 124, 125: printed as prose by pope. 129: _scribe_] _the scribe_ pope. 137: _wooes_] _woes_ ff. (iv. ii. 138. _woe_ f1. _wooe_ f2 f3 f4.) 149: _there_] f1. _there's_ f2 f3 f4. scene ii. _verona. 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. 5 [_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'erslips me in the day wherein i sigh not, julia, for thy sake, 10 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. 15 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._ _pan._ sir proteus, you are stay'd for. _pro._ go; i come, i come. 20 alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [_exeunt._ notes: ii, 2. 5: [giving a ring] rowe. 16: [exit julia] rowe. 20: _i come, i come_] _i come_ pope. 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 5 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 10 seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. nay, i'll shew 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 15 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, 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 20 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; 25 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._ _pan._ launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped, 30 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. _launce._ it is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 35 _pan._ what's the unkindest tide? _launce._ why, he that's tied here, crab, my dog. _pan._ 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, 40 and, in losing thy service,--why dost thou stop my mouth? _launce._ for fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. _pan._ where should i lose my tongue? _launce._ in thy tale. _pan._ in thy tail! 45 _launce._ 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. _pan._ come, come away, man; i was sent to call thee. 50 _launce._ sir, call me what thou darest. _pan._ wilt thou go? _launce._ well, i will go. [_exeunt._ notes: ii, 3. 9: _pebble_] _pibble_ ff. 20: _i am the dog_] _i am me_ hanmer. _oh, the dog is me_] _ay, the dog is the dog_ hanmer. 25: _she_] _the shoe_ hanmer. _a wood woman_] theobald. _a would woman_ ff. _an ould woman_ pope. _a wild woman_ collier ms. malone (blackstone conj.) punctuates (_o that she could speak now!_) 35: _tied ... tied_] _tide ... tide_ f1. _tide ... tyde_ f2 f3 f4. 45: _thy tail!_] _my tail?_ hanmer. [kicking him. anon. conj. 46: _tide_] _tide_ f1 f4. _tyde_ f2 f3. _flood_ pope. _tied_ collier. 47: _and the tied_] singer. _and the tide_ ff. om. capell. _the tide!_ steevens. _indeed!_ s. verges conj. scene iv. _milan. the duke's palace._ _enter silvia, valentine, thurio, and speed._ _sil._ servant! _val._ mistress? _speed._ master, sir thurio frowns on you. _val._ ay, boy, it's for love. _speed._ not of you. 5 _val._ of my mistress, then. _speed._ 'twere good you knocked him. [_exit._ _sil._ servant, you are sad. _val._ indeed, madam, i seem so. _thu._ seem you that you are not? 10 _val._ haply i do. _thu._ so do counterfeits. _val._ so do you. _thu._ what seem i that i am not? _val._ wise. 15 _thu._ what instance of the contrary? _val._ your folly. _thu._ and how quote you my folly? _val._ i quote it in your jerkin. _thu._ my jerkin is a doublet. 20 _val._ well, then, i'll double your folly. _thu._ how? _sil._ what, angry, sir thurio! do you change colour? _val._ give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. _thu._ that hath more mind to feed on your blood than 25 live in your air. _val._ you have said, sir. _thu._ ay, sir, and done too, for this time. _val._ i know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. _sil._ a fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 30 shot off. _val._ 'tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. _sil._ who is that, servant? _val._ yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. sir thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and 35 spends what he borrows kindly in your company. _thu._ sir, if you spend word for word with me, i shall make your wit bankrupt. _val._ i know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, i think, no other treasure to give your followers, 40 for it appears, by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. _sil._ no more, gentlemen, no more:--here comes my father. _enter duke._ _duke._ now, daughter silvia, you are hard beset. 45 sir valentine, your father's in good health: what say you to a letter from your friends of much good news? _val._ my lord, i will be thankful to any happy messenger from thence. _duke._ know ye don antonio, your countryman? 50 _val._ ay, my good lord, i know the gentleman to be of worth, and worthy estimation, and not without desert so well reputed. _duke._ hath he not a son? _val._ ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves 55 the honour and regard of such a father. _duke._ you know him well? _val._ 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, 60 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; 65 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. 70 _duke._ 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; 75 and here he means to spend his time awhile: i think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. _val._ should i have wish'd a thing, it had been he. _duke._ welcome him, then, according to his worth. silvia, i speak to you, and you, sir thurio, 80 for valentine, i need not cite him to it: i will send him hither to you presently. [_exit._ _val._ 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. 85 _sil._ belike that now she hath enfranchised them, upon some other pawn for fealty. _val._ nay, sure, i think she holds them prisoners still. _sil._ nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind, how could he see his way to seek out you? 90 _val._ why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. _thu._ they say that love hath not an eye at all. _val._ to see such lovers, thurio, as yourself: upon a homely object love can wink. _sil._ have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. 95 _enter proteus. [exit thurio._ _val._ welcome, dear proteus! mistress, i beseech you, confirm his welcome with some special favour. _sil._ his worth is warrant for his welcome hither, if this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. _val._ mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him 100 to be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. _sil._ too low a mistress for so high a servant. _pro._ not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant to have a look of such a worthy mistress. _val._ leave off discourse of disability: 105 sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. _pro._ my duty will i boast of; nothing else. _sil._ and duty never yet did want his meed: servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. _pro._ i'll die on him that says so but yourself. 110 _sil._ that you are welcome? _pro._ that you are worthless. _re-enter thurio._ _thu._ madam, my lord your father would speak with you. _sil._ 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; 115 when you have done, we look to hear from you. _pro._ we'll both attend upon your ladyship. [_exeunt silvia and thurio._ _val._ now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? _pro._ your friends are well, and have them much commended. _val._ and how do yours? _pro._ i left them all in health. 120 _val._ how does your lady? and how thrives your love? _pro._ my tales of love were wont to weary you; i know you joy not in a love-discourse. _val._ ay, proteus, but that life is alter'd now: i have done penance for contemning love, 125 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, 130 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. 135 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. _pro._ enough; i read your fortune in your eye. was this the idol that you worship so? 140 _val._ even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? _pro._ no; but she is an earthly paragon. _val._ call her divine. _pro._ i will not flatter her. _val._ o, flatter me; for love delights in praises. _pro._ when i was sick, you gave me bitter pills; 145 and i must minister the like to you. _val._ then speak the truth by her; if not divine, yet let her be a principality, sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. _pro._ except my mistress. _val._ sweet, except not any; 150 except thou wilt except against my love. _pro._ have i not reason to prefer mine own? _val._ 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 155 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. _pro._ why, valentine, what braggardism is this? 160 _val._ pardon me, proteus: all i can is nothing to her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; she is alone. _pro._ then let her alone. _val._ not for the world: why, man, she is mine own; and i as rich in having such a jewel 165 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 170 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. _pro._ but she loves you? _val._ ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our marriage-hour, 175 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, 180 in these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. _pro._ 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. 185 _val._ will you make haste? _pro._ 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 190 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.- 195 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. 200 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, 205 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 check my erring love, i will; if not, to compass her i'll use my skill. [_exit._ 210 notes: ii, 4. 2: [they converse apart] capell. 7: [exit] edd. see note (v). 21: _i'll_] _ile_ ff. _'twill_ collier ms. 45: scene v. pope. enter duke.] enter duke attended. capell. 49: _happy_] f1. om. f2 f3 f4. 50: _ye_] f1. _you_ f2 f3 f4. 52: _worth_] _wealth_ collier ms. and s. walker conj. 58: _know_] hanmer. _knew_ ff. 68: _comes_] ff. _come_ rowe. 77: _unwelcome_] f1. _welcome_ f2 f3 f4. 81: _cite_] _'cite_ malone. 82: _i will_] _i'll_ pope. [exit] rowe. 95: scene vi. pope. enter proteus.] enter. f2. exit thurio.] collier. see note (v). 97: _his_] f1. _this_ f2 f3 f4. 104: _a worthy_] _a worthy a_ f1. 111: _welcome_] _welcome, sir_ capell. _that you are worthless_] _no, that you are worthless_ johnson. re-enter thurio.] om. ff. enter thurio. collier. enter a servant. theobald. 112: thu.] ff. serv. theobald. 113: [exit servant. theobald. 114: _go_] _go you_ capell. _new servant_] _my new servant_ pope. 117: [exeunt s. and t.] rowe. 118: scene vii. pope. 126: _whose_] _those_ johnson conj. 133: _as i confess_] _as, i confess,_ warburton. 135: _no such_] _any_ hanmer. 144: _praises_] f1. _praise_ f2 f3 f4. 158: _summer-swelling_] _summer-smelling_ steevens conj. (withdrawn). 160: _braggardism_] steevens. _bragadism_ ff. 162: _makes_] _make_ f1. _worthies_] _worth as_ grant white. 163: _then_] _why, then_ hanmer. 167: _rocks_] f1. _rocke_ f2. _rock_ f3 f4. 175: _ay, and we are_] _ay, and we're_ edd. conj. _nay, more_] _nay, more, my protheus_ capell. _marriage-hour_] _marriage_ pope. 185: _you_] _upon you_ hanmer. _on you_ capell. 187: [exit val.] [exit. f1. om. f2 f3 f4. [exeunt valentine and speed. dyce. see note (v). 192: _is it ... praise,_] _it is mine, or valentine's praise?_ f1. _is it mine then, or valentineans praise?_ f2 f3 f4. _is it mine then or valentino's praise,_ rowe, pope. _is it mine eye or valentine's praise,_ theobald (warburton). _is it mine eyne, or valentino's praise,_ hanmer. _is it mine own, or valentino's praise,_ capell. _is it her mien, or valentinus' praise,_ malone (blakeway conj.). see note (vi). 206: _dazzled_] _dazel'd_ f1. _dazel'd so_ f2 f3 f4. 210: [exit.] f2. [exeunt. f1. scene v. _the same. a street._ _enter speed and launce severally._ _speed._ launce! by mine honesty, welcome to padua! _launce._ 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!' 5 _speed._ 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? _launce._ marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted 10 very fairly in jest. _speed._ but shall she marry him? _launce._ no. _speed._ how, then? shall he marry her? _launce._ no, neither. 15 _speed._ what, are they broken? _launce._ no, they are both as whole as a fish. _speed._ why, then, how stands the matter with them? _launce._ marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. 20 _speed._ what an ass art thou! i understand thee not. _launce._ what a block art thou, that thou canst not! my staff understands me. _speed._ what thou sayest? _launce._ ay, and what i do too: look thee, i'll but 25 lean, and my staff understands me. _speed._ it stands under thee, indeed. _launce._ why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. _speed._ but tell me true, will't be a match? _launce._ ask my dog: if he say ay, it will; if he say, 30 no, it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. _speed._ the conclusion is, then, that it will. _launce._ thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. _speed._ 'tis well that i get it so. but, launce, how 35 sayest thou, that my master is become a notable lover? _launce._ i never knew him otherwise. _speed._ than how? _launce._ a notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. _speed._ why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. 40 _launce._ why fool, i meant not thee; i meant thy master. _speed._ i tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. _launce._ 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 45 of a christian. _speed._ why? _launce._ because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a christian. wilt thou go? _speed._ at thy service. [_exeunt._ 50 notes: ii, 5. scene v.] scena quinta f1. scena quarta f2 f3 f4. scene viii. pope. 1: _padua_] ff. _milan_ pope. see note (vii). 4: _be_] _is_ rowe. 21-28: put in the margin as spurious by pope. 36: _that_] f2 f3 f4. _that that_ f1. 44: _in love. if thou wilt, go_] knight. _in love. if thou wilt go_ ff. _in love, if thou wilt go_ collier (malone conj.). _alehouse_] f1. _alehouse, so_ f2 f3 f4. 49: _ale_] _ale-house_ rowe. scene vi. _the same. the duke's palace._ _enter proteus._ _pro._ to leave my julia, shall i be forsworn; to love fair silvia, shall i be forsworn; to wrong my friend, i shall be much forsworn; and even that power, which gave me first my oath, provokes me to this threefold perjury; 5 love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear. o sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd, teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! at first i did adore a twinkling star, but now i worship a celestial sun. 10 unheedful vows may needfully be broken; and he wants wit that wants resolved will to learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 15 with twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. i cannot leave to love, and yet i do; but there i leave to love where i should love. julia i lose, and valentine i lose: if i keep them, i needs must lose myself; 20 if i lose them, thus find i by their loss for valentine, myself, for julia, silvia. i to myself am dearer than a friend, for love is still most precious in itself; and silvia--witness heaven, that made her fair!- 25 shows julia but a swarthy ethiope. i will forget that julia is alive, remembering that my love to her is dead; and valentine i'll hold an enemy, aiming at silvia as a sweeter friend. 30 i cannot now prove constant to myself, without some treachery used to valentine. this night he meaneth with a corded ladder to climb celestial silvia's chamber-window; myself in counsel, his competitor. 35 now presently i'll give her father notice of their disguising and pretended flight; who, all enraged, will banish valentine; for thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; but, valentine being gone, i'll quickly cross 40 by some sly trick blunt thurio's dull proceeding. love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, as thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [_exit._ notes: ii, 6. scene vi.] scene ix. pope. enter proteus.] enter protheus solus. ff. 1, 2: _forsworn; ... forsworn;_] theobald. _forsworn? ... forsworn?_ ff. 7: _sweet-suggesting_] _sweet suggestion,_ pope. _if thou hast_] _if i have_ warburton. 16: _soul-confirming_] _soul-confirmed_ pope. 21: _thus_] _this_ theobald. _by_] f1. _but_ f2 f3 f4. 24: _most_] _more_ steevens. _in_] _to_ collier ms. 35: _counsel_] _counsaile_ f1 f2. _councel_ f3. _council_ f4. 37: _pretended_] _intended_ johnson conj. 43: _this_] f1. _his_ f2 f3 f4. scene vii. _verona. julia's house._ _enter julia and lucetta._ _jul._ counsel, lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; and, even in kind love, i do conjure thee, who art the table wherein all my thoughts are visibly character'd and engraved, to lesson me; and tell me some good mean, 5 how, with my honour, i may undertake a journey to my loving proteus. _luc._ alas, the way is wearisome and long! _jul._ a true-devoted pilgrim is not weary to measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; 10 much less shall she that hath love's wings to fly, and when the flight is made to one so dear, of such divine perfection, as sir proteus. _luc._ better forbear till proteus make return. _jul._ o, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food? 15 pity the dearth that i have pined in, by longing for that food so long a time. didst thou but know the inly touch of love, thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow as seek to quench the fire of love with words. 20 _luc._ i do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, but qualify the fire's extreme rage, lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. _jul._ the more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. the current that with gentle murmur glides, 25 thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; but when his fair course is not hindered, he makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, giving a gentle kiss to every sedge he overtaketh in his pilgrimage; 30 and so by many winding nooks he strays, with willing sport, to the wild ocean. then let me go, and hinder not my course: i'll be as patient as a gentle stream, and make a pastime of each weary step, 35 till the last step have brought me to my love; and there i'll rest, as after much turmoil a blessed soul doth in elysium. _luc._ but in what habit will you go along? _jul._ not like a woman; for i would prevent 40 the loose encounters of lascivious men: gentle lucetta, fit me with such weeds as may beseem some well-reputed page. _luc._ why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair. _jul._ no, girl; i'll knit it up in silken strings 45 with twenty odd-conceited true-love knots. to be fantastic may become a youth of greater time than i shall show to be. _luc._ what fashion, madam, shall i make your breeches? _jul._ that fits as well as, 'tell me, good my lord, 50 what compass will you wear your farthingale?' why even what fashion thou best likest, lucetta. _luc._ you must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. _jul._ out, out, lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. _luc._ a round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, 55 unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. _jul._ lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have what thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. but tell me, wench, how will the world repute me for undertaking so unstaid a journey? 60 i fear me, it will make me scandalized. _luc._ if you think so, then stay at home, and go not. _jul._ nay, that i will not. _luc._ then never dream on infamy, but go. if proteus like your journey when you come, 65 no matter who's displeased when you are gone: i fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. _jul._ that is the least, lucetta, of my fear: a thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, and instances of infinite of love, 70 warrant me welcome to my proteus. _luc._ all these are servants to deceitful men. _jul._ base men, that use them to so base effect! but truer stars did govern proteus' birth: his words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; 75 his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. _luc._ pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him! _jul._ now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong, 80 to bear a hard opinion of his truth: only deserve my love by loving him; and presently go with me to my chamber, to take a note of what i stand in need of, to furnish me upon my longing journey. 85 all that is mine i leave at thy dispose, my goods, my lands, my reputation; only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. come, answer not, but to it presently! i am impatient of my tarriance. [_exeunt._ 90 notes: ii, 7. scene vii.] scene x. pope. 13: _perfection_] f1 f2 f4. _perfections_ f3. 18: _inly_] f1 f2. _inchly_ f3 f4. 22: _extreme_] _extremest_ pope. 32: _wild_] _wide_ collier ms. 47: _fantastic_] _fantantastique_ f2. 52: _likest_] pope. _likes_ ff. 67: _withal_] _with all_ f1 f4. _withall_ f2 f3. 70: _of infinite_] f1. _as infinite_ f2 f3 f4. _of the infinite_ malone. 85: _longing_] _loving_ collier ms. 89: _to it_] _do it_ warburton. act iii. scene i. _milan. ante-room in the duke's palace._ _enter duke, thurio, and proteus._ _duke._ sir thurio, give us leave, i pray, awhile; we have some secrets to confer about. [_exit thu._ now, tell me, proteus, what's your will with me? _pro._ my gracious lord, that which i would discover the law of friendship bids me to conceal; 5 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, 10 this night intends to steal away your daughter: myself am one made privy to the plot. i know you have determined to bestow her on thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; and should she thus be stol'n away from you, 15 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, 20 being unprevented, to your timeless grave. _duke._ proteus, i thank thee for thine honest care; which to requite, command me while i live. this love of theirs myself have often seen, haply when they have judged me fast asleep; 25 and oftentimes have purposed 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, 30 i gave him gentle looks; thereby to find that which thyself hast now disclosed 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, 35 the key whereof myself have ever kept; and thence she cannot be convey'd away. _pro._ know, noble lord, they have devised a mean how he her chamber-window will ascend, and with a corded ladder fetch her down; 40 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; 45 for, love of you, not hate unto my friend, hath made me publisher of this pretence. _duke._ upon mine honour, he shall never know that i had any light from thee of this. _pro._ adieu, my lord; sir valentine is coming. [_exit._ 50 _enter valentine._ _duke._ sir valentine, whither away so fast? _val._ please it your grace, there is a messenger that stays to bear my letters to my friends, and i am going to deliver them. _duke._ be they of much import? 55 _val._ the tenour of them doth but signify my health and happy being at your court. _duke._ nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; i am to break with thee of some affairs that touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 60 '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 match were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities 65 beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: cannot your grace win her to fancy him? _duke._ no, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; neither regarding that she is my child, 70 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 duty, 75 i now am full resolved 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 in this? 80 _duke._ there is a lady in 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; 85 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 words: dumb jewels often in their silent kind 90 more than quick words do move a woman's mind. _duke._ but she did scorn a present that i sent her. _val._ a woman sometimes scorns what best contents her. send her another; never give her o'er; for scorn at first makes afterlove the more. 95 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; 100 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. 105 _duke._ but she i mean is promised by her friends 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. 110 _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 115 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. 120 _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 me that. _duke._ this very night; for love is like a child, that longs for every thing that he can come by. 125 _val._ by seven o'clock i'll get you such 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. 130 _duke._ a cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? _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 lord. _duke._ how shall i fashion me to wear a cloak? 135 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; 140 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 importune, 145 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 would be. what's here? 150 'silvia, this night i will enfranchise thee.' 'tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. why, phaethon,--for thou art merops' son,-wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, and with thy daring folly burn the world? 155 wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 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: 160 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, 165 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 lovest thy life, make speed from hence. [_exit._ _val._ and why not death rather than living torment? 170 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? 175 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, 180 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, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive. i fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: 185 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? 190 _launce._ 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? 195 _val._ neither. _pro._ what then? _val._ nothing. _launce._ can nothing speak? master, shall i strike? _pro._ who wouldst thou strike? 200 _launce._ nothing. _pro._ villain, forbear. _launce._ why, sir, i'll strike nothing: i pray you,-_pro._ sirrah, i say, forbear. friend valentine, a word. _val._ my ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news, 205 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. 210 _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? 215 _launce._ sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. _pro._ that thou art banished--o, that's the news!-from hence, from silvia, and from me thy friend. _val._ o, i have fed upon this woe already, and now excess of it will make me surfeit. 220 doth silvia know that i am banished? _pro._ ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom-which, unreversed, stands in effectual force-a sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; 225 with them, upon her knees, her humble self; wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them 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, 230 could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; but valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. besides, her intercession chafed him so, when she for thy repeal was suppliant, that to close prison he commanded her, 235 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. 240 _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. 245 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. 250 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 lovest silvia, though not for thyself, 255 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 my dear silvia! hapless valentine! 260 [_exeunt val. and pro._ _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 265 '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. 270 [_pulling out a paper._] here is the cate-log 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. 275 _enter speed._ _speed._ how now, signior launce! what news with your mastership? _launce._ 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? 280 _launce._ the blackest news that ever thou heardest. _speed._ why, man, how black? _launce._ why, as black as ink. _speed._ let me read them. _launce._ fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read. 285 _speed._ thou liest; i can. _launce._ i will try thee. tell me this: who begot thee? _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. 290 _speed._ come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. _launce._ there; and saint nicholas be thy speed! _speed_ [_reads_]. 'imprimis: she can milk.' _launce._ ay, that she can. _speed._ 'item: she brews good ale.' 295 _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 so? _speed._ 'item: she can knit.' 300 _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. 305 _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 virtues.' _launce._ that's as much as to say, bastard virtues; 310 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 315 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 breath. 320 _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! 325 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. 330 _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 to bite. 335 _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 praised. _speed._ 'item: she is too liberal.' _launce._ of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down 340 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, proceed. _speed._ 'item: she hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' 345 _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 wit,'-_launce._ more hair than wit? it may be; i'll prove it. 350 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 were out! 355 _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? 360 _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. 365 _speed._ and must i go to him? _launce._ thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. _speed._ why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love-letters! [_exit._ 370 _launce._ now will he be swinged for reading my letter,--an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets! i'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. [_exit._ notes: iii, 1. ante-room] capell. 2: [exit thu.] rowe. 7: _as_] f1 f3 f4. _as as_ f2. 21: _being_] _if_ pope. _unprevented_] f1 f2. _unprepared_ f3 f4. 32: _hast_] _hath_ pope. 33: _that_] f1. om. f2 f3 f4. 50: [exit] rowe. enter valentine.] om. f1. [enter. f2 f3 f4. 51: scene ii. pope. _whither_] f2. _whether_ f1 (and elsewhere). 56: _tenour_] _tenure_ ff. 72: _may i_] _i may_ hanmer. 78: _dower_] _dowre_ ff. _dowry_ hanmer. 81: _in verona_] ff. _sir, in milan_ pope. _in milano_ collier ms. _of verona_ halliwell. see note (vii). 83: _nought_] f2 f3 f4. _naught_ f1. 89: _respect_] f1 f2 f3. _respects_ f4. 92: _that i sent her_] _that i sent, sir_ steevens conj. 93: _contents_] _content_ mason conj. 98: _'tis_] f1 f3 f4. _'its_ f2. 99: _for why, the_] _for why the_ dyce. 105: _with_] f1 f3 f4. _this_ f2. 139: [reads] rowe. 149: _would be_] f2 f3 f4. _should be_ f1. 151: _i will_] f1 f2 f3. _will i_ f4. 154: _car_] _cat_ f3 f4. 169: [exit] f2. 170: scene iii. pope. enter pro. and launce] f2. 189: _soho, soho!_] _so-hough, soa hough--_ f1. 200: _who_] f1. _whom_ f2 f3 f4. 204: _sirrah_] om. pope. 216: _vanished_] _vanish'd_ pope. 217: _banished--o that's_] _banish'd: oh, that's_ ff. _banish'd--o, that is_ pope. _banished--_ val. _oh, that's the news!_ pro. _from hence, ... _ edd. conj. 260: [exeunt val. and pro.] exeunt. f2. 261: scene vi. pope, by misprint for iv. 263: _one knave_] _one kind of knave_ hanmer. _one kind_ warburton. _one in love_ staunton conj. 270: [pulling out a paper] rowe. 271: _cate-log_] _cat-log_ pope. _condition_] f1 f2 f3. _conditions_ f4. 274: _milk;' look you,_] _milk, look you;_' capell. 276: enter speed] f2. 278: _master's ship_] theobald. _mastership_ ff. 293, 294: om. farmer conj. 293: _imprimis_] _item_ halliwell. 304: _need not be_] f1. _need not to be_ f2 f3 f4. 313: _follow_] f1. _followes_ f2. _follows_ f3 f4. 315: _kissed_] rowe. om. ff. 322: _sleep_] _slip_ collier ms. 325: _o ... this_] _o villaine, that set this_ f1. _o villainy, that set_ f2 f3. _oh villain! that set_ f4. _o villainy that set this_ malone. 342: _cannot i_] _i cannot_ steevens. 344: _hair_] f1. _hairs_ f2 f3 f4. 347: _that last_] f1. (in some copies only, according to malone.) _that_ f2 f3 f4. 350: _it may be; i'll prove it_] theobald. _it may be i'll prove it_ ff. 369: _of_] f1 f2. om. f3 f4. 370: [exit] capell. 373: [exit.] capell. [exeunt. ff. scene ii. _the same. the duke's palace._ _enter duke and thurio._ _duke._ sir thurio, fear not but that she will love you, now valentine is banish'd from her sight. _thu._ since his exile she hath despised me most. forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, that i am desperate of obtaining her. 5 _duke._ this weak impress of love is as a figure trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. a little time will melt her frozen thoughts, and worthless valentine shall be forgot. 10 _enter proteus._ how now, sir proteus! is your countryman, according to our proclamation, gone? _pro._ gone, my good lord. _duke._ my daughter takes his going grievously. _pro._ a little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 15 _duke._ so i believe; but thurio thinks not so. proteus, the good conceit i hold of thee-for thou hast shown some sign of good desert-makes me the better to confer with thee. _pro._ longer than i prove loyal to your grace 20 let me not live to look upon your grace. _duke._ thou know'st how willingly i would effect the match between sir thurio and my daughter. _pro._ i do, my lord. _duke._ and also, i think, thou art not ignorant 25 how she opposes her against my will. _pro._ she did, my lord, when valentine was here. _duke._ ay, and perversely she persevers so. what might we do to make the girl forget the love of valentine, and love sir thurio? 30 _pro._ the best way is to slander valentine with falsehood, cowardice and poor descent, three things that women highly hold in hate. _duke._ ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. _pro._ ay, if his enemy deliver it: 35 therefore it must with circumstance be spoken by one whom she esteemeth as his friend. _duke._ then you must undertake to slander him. _pro._ and that, my lord, i shall be loath to do: 'tis an ill office for a gentleman, 40 especially against his very friend. _duke._ where your good word cannot advantage him, your slander never can endamage him; therefore the office is indifferent, being entreated to it by your friend. 45 _pro._ you have prevail'd, my lord: if i can do it by ought that i can speak in his dispraise, she shall not long continue love to him. but say this weed her love from valentine, it follows not that she will love sir thurio. 50 _thu._ therefore, as you unwind her love from him, lest it should ravel and be good to none, you must provide to bottom it on me; which must be done by praising me as much as you in worth dispraise sir valentine. 55 _duke._ and, proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, because we know, on valentine's report, you are already love's firm votary, and cannot soon revolt and change your mind. upon this warrant shall you have access 60 where you with silvia may confer at large; for she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, and, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you; where you may temper her by your persuasion to hate young valentine and love my friend. 65 _pro._ as much as i can do, i will effect: but you, sir thurio, are not sharp enough; you must lay lime to tangle her desires by wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. 70 _duke._ ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. _pro._ say that upon the altar of her beauty you sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: write till your ink be dry, and with your tears 75 moist it again; and frame some feeling line that may discover such integrity: for orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews; whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 80 forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. after your dire-lamenting elegies, visit by night your lady's chamber-window with some sweet concert; to their instruments tune a deploring dump: the night's dead silence 85 will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. this, or else nothing, will inherit her. _duke._ this discipline shows thou hast been in love. _thu._ and thy advice this night i'll put in practice. therefore, sweet proteus, my direction-giver, 90 let us into the city presently to sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. i have a sonnet that will serve the turn to give the onset to thy good advice. _duke._ about it, gentlemen! 95 _pro._ we'll wait upon your grace till after supper, and afterward determine our proceedings. _duke._ even now about it! i will pardon you. [_exeunt._ notes: iii, 2. scene ii.] scene v. pope. 14: _grievously._] _grievously?_ f1. (in some copies only, according to malone). _heavily?_ f2 f3. _heavily._ f4. 18: _some_] _sure_ collier ms. 19: _better_] _bolder_ capell conj. 20: _loyal_] f1 f3 f4. _royall_ f2. 21: _your_] f1 f3 f4. _you_ f2. _grace_] _face_ anon. conj. 25: _i think_] f1. _i doe think_ f2 f3 f4. 28: _persevers_] f1 f2. _perseveres_ f3 f4. 37: _esteemeth_] f1. _esteemes_ f2. _esteems_ f3 f4. 49: _weed_] ff. _wean_ rowe. 55: _worth_] _word_ capell conj. 64: _where_] _when_ collier ms. 71, 72: _ay, much_] capell. _i, much_ ff. _much_ pope. 76: _line_] _lines_ s. verges conj. 77: _such_] _strict_ collier ms. _love's_ s. verges conj. malone suggests that a line has been lost to this purport: _'as her obdurate heart may penetrate.'_ 81: _to_] f1. _and_ f2 f3 f4. 84: _concert_] hanmer. _consort_ ff. 86: _sweet-complaining_] capell. _sweet complaining_ ff. 94: _advice_] f2 f3 f4. _advise_ f1. act iv. scene i. _the frontiers of mantua. a forest._ _enter certain _outlaws_._ _first out._ fellows, stand fast; i see a passenger. _sec. out._ if there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. _enter valentine and speed._ _third out._ stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye: if not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. _speed._ sir, we are undone; these are the villains 5 that all the travellers do fear so much. _val._ my friends,-_first out._ that's not so, sir: we are your enemies. _sec. out._ peace! we'll hear him. _third out._ ay, by my beard, will we, for he's a proper man. 10 _val._ then know that i have little wealth to lose: a man i am cross'd with adversity; my riches are these poor habiliments, of which if you should here disfurnish me, you take the sum and substance that i have. 15 _sec. out._ whither travel you? _val._ to verona. _first out._ whence came you? _val._ from milan. _third out._ have you long sojourned there? 20 _val._ some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, if crooked fortune had not thwarted me. _first out._ what, were you banish'd thence? _val._ i was. _sec. out._ for what offence? 25 _val._ for that which now torments me to rehearse: i kill'd a man, whose death i much repent; but yet i slew him manfully in fight, without false vantage or base treachery. _first out._ why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 30 but were you banish'd for so small a fault? _val._ i was, and held me glad of such a doom. _sec. out._ have you the tongues? _val._ my youthful travel therein made me happy, or else i often had been miserable. 35 _third out._ by the bare scalp of robin hood's fat friar, this fellow were a king for our wild faction! _first out._ we'll have him. sirs, a word. _speed._ master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. 40 _val._ peace, villain! _sec. out._ tell us this: have you any thing to take to? _val._ nothing but my fortune. _third out._ know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 45 thrust from the company of awful men: myself was from verona banished for practising to steal away a lady, an heir, and near allied unto the duke. _sec. out._ and i from mantua, for a gentleman, 50 who, in my mood, i stabb'd unto the heart. _first out._ and i for such like petty crimes as these. but to the purpose,--for we cite our faults, that they may hold excused our lawless lives; and partly, seeing you are beautified 55 with goodly shape, and by your own report a linguist, and a man of such perfection as we do in our quality much want,-_sec. out._ indeed, because you are a banish'd man, therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: 60 are you content to be our general? to make a virtue of necessity, and live, as we do, in this wilderness? _third out._ what say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort? say ay, and be the captain of us all: 65 we'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee, love thee as our commander and our king. _first out._ but if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. _sec. out._ thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. _val._ i take your offer, and will live with you, 70 provided that you do no outrages on silly women or poor passengers. _third out._ no, we detest such vile base practices. come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, and show thee all the treasure we have got; 75 which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [_exeunt._ notes: iv, 1. scene i. the frontiers ... forest.] capell. a forest. rowe. a forest leading towards mantua. warburton. 2: _shrink_] _shrinkd_ f2. 4: _sit_] f1 f2. _sir_ f3 f4. 5: _sir_] _o sir_ capell. 6: _do_] om. pope, who prints lines 5 and 6 as prose. 9: _peace!_] _peace, peace!_ capell. 11: _little wealth_] f1. _little_ f2 f3 f4. _little left_ hanmer. 18: _whence_] _and whence_ capell, who reads 16-20 as two lines ending _came you? ... there?_ 35: _ i often had been_] f2. _i often had been often_ f1. _often had been_ (om. _i_) f3 f4. _i had been often_ collier. 39, 40: _it's ... thievery_] printed as a verse in ff. _it is a kind of honourable thievery_ steevens. 42: _thing_] f1. _things_ f2 f3 f4. 46: _awful_] _lawful_ heath conj. 49: _an heir, and near allied_] theobald. _and heire and neece, allide_ f1 f2. _an heir, and neice allide_ f3. _an heir, and neece alli'd_ f4. 51: _who_] _whom_ pope. 60: _therefore_] f1 f2. _there_ f3 f4. 63: _this_] f1. _the_ f2 f3 f4. 74: _crews_] f4. _crewes_ f1 f2 f3. _cave_ collier ms. _caves_ singer. _crew_ delius conj. _cruives_ bullock conj. 76: _all_] _shall_ pope. scene ii. _milan. outside the duke's palace, under silvia's chamber._ _enter proteus._ _pro._ already have i been false to valentine, and now i must be as unjust to thurio. under the colour of commending him, i have access my own love to prefer: but silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 5 to be corrupted with my worthless gifts. when i protest true loyalty to her, she twits me with my falsehood to my friend; when to her beauty i commend my vows, she bids me think how i have been forsworn 10 in breaking faith with julia whom i loved: and notwithstanding all her sudden quips, the least whereof would quell a lover's hope, yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, the more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 15 but here comes thurio: now must we to her window, and give some evening music to her ear. _enter thurio and _musicians_._ _thu._ how now, sir proteus, are you crept before us? _pro._ ay, gentle thurio; for you know that love will creep in service where it cannot go. 20 _tim._ ay, but i hope, sir, that you love not here. _pro._ sir, but i do; or else i would be hence. _thu._ who? silvia? _pro._ ay, silvia; for your sake. _thu._ i thank you for your own. now, gentlemen, let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 25 _enter, at a distance, host, and julia in boy's clothes._ _host._ now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly: i pray you, why is it? _jul._ marry, mine host, because i cannot be merry. _host._ come, we'll have you merry: i'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman that 30 you asked for. _jul._ but shall i hear him speak? _host._ ay, that you shall. _jul._ that will be music. [_music plays._ _host._ hark, hark! 35 _jul._ is he among these? _host._ ay: but, peace! let's hear 'em. song. who is silvia? what is she, that all our swains commend her? holy, fair, and wise is she; 40 the heaven such grace did lend her, that she might admired be. is she kind as she is fair? for beauty lives with kindness. love doth to her eyes repair, 45 to help him of his blindness, and, being help'd, inhabits there. then to silvia let us sing, that silvia is excelling; she excels each mortal thing 50 upon the dull earth dwelling: to her let us garlands bring. _host._ how now! are you sadder than you were before? how do you, man? the music likes you not. _jul._ you mistake; the musician likes me not. 55 _host._ why, my pretty youth? _jul._ he plays false, father. _host._ how? out of tune on the strings? _jul._ not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings. 60 _host._ you have a quick ear. _jul._ ay, i would i were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. _host._ i perceive you delight not in music. _jul._ not a whit, when it jars so. 65 _host._ hark, what fine change is in the music! _jul._ ay, that change is the spite. _host._ you would have them always play but one thing? _jul._ i would always have one play but one thing. but, host, doth this sir proteus that we talk on 70 often resort unto this gentlewoman? _host._ i tell you what launce, his man, told me,--he loved her out of all nick. _jul._ where is launce? _host._ gone to seek his dog; which to-morrow, by his 75 master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. _jul._ peace! stand aside: the company parts. _pro._ sir thurio, fear not you: i will so plead, that you shall say my cunning drift excels. _thu._ where meet we? _pro._ at saint gregory's well. _thu._ farewell. 80 [_exeunt thu. and musicians._ _enter silvia above._ _pro._ madam, good even to your ladyship. _sil._ i thank you for your music, gentlemen. who is that that spake? _pro._ one, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, you would quickly learn to know him by his voice. 85 _sil._ sir proteus, as i take it. _pro._ sir proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. _sil._ what's your will? _pro._ that i may compass yours. _sil._ you have your wish; my will is even this: that presently you hie you home to bed. 90 thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! think'st thou i am so shallow, so conceitless, to be seduced by thy flattery, that hast deceived so many with thy vows? return, return, and make thy love amends. 95 for me,--by this pale queen of night i swear, i am so far from granting thy request, that i despise thee for thy wrongful suit; and by and by intend to chide myself even for this time i spend in talking to thee. 100 _pro._ i grant, sweet love, that i did love a lady; but she is dead. _jul._ [_aside_] 'twere false, if i should speak it; for i am sure she is not buried. _sil._ say that she be; yet valentine thy friend survives; to whom, thyself art witness, 105 i am betroth'd: and art thou not ashamed to wrong him with thy importunacy? _pro._ i likewise hear that valentine is dead. _sil._ and so suppose am i; for in his grave assure thyself my love is buried. 110 _pro._ sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. _sil._ go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. _jul._ [_aside_] he heard not that. _pro._ madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 115 vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, the picture that is hanging in your chamber; to that i'll speak, to that i'll sigh and weep: for since the substance of your perfect self is else devoted, i am but a shadow; 120 and to your shadow will i make true love. _jul._ [_aside_] if 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it, and make it but a shadow, as i am. _sil._ i am very loath to be your idol, sir; but since your falsehood shall become you well 125 to worship shadows and adore false shapes, send to me in the morning, and i'll send it: and so, good rest. _pro._ as wretches have o'ernight that wait for execution in the morn. [_exeunt pro. and sil. severally._ _jul._ host, will you go? 130 _host._ by my halidom, i was fast asleep. _jul._ pray you, where lies sir proteus? _host._ marry, at my house. trust me, i think 'tis almost day. _jul._ not so; but it hath been the longest night 135 that e'er i watch'd, and the most heaviest. [_exeunt._ notes: iv, 2. scene ii. outside ... palace ...] an open place, ... warburton. court of the palace. capell. 1: _have i_] _i've_ pope. 15: _and_] om. f3 f4. 18: musicians.] rowe. musitian. ff. at the beginning of the scene. 23: _who_] f1. whom f2 f3 f4. 25: _tune_] f1. _turne_ f2. _turn_ f3 f4. 26: at a distance] capell. _allycholly_] _melancholy_ pope. 27: _i pray you, why is it_] f1. _i pray you what is it_ f2 f3. _i pray what is it?_ f4. 34: [music plays] capell. 40: _is she_] _as free_ collier ms. 50: _excels_] _exceeds_ s. walker conj. 53: scene iii. pope. 53, 54: _are you ... before?_] _you are ... before_ heath conj. 68: _you would_] _you would, then,_ malone. _you would not_ collier ms. 70, 71: printed as prose by capell. 72-74: printed as verse in ff. _i tell ... he lov'd ..._ 78: _fear not you_] f1. _fear not_ f2 f3 f4. 80: [exeunt thu. and musicians.] rowe. 81: scene iv. pope. enter silvia above] rowe. om. ff. 85: _you would_] ff. _you'd_ pope. 88: _what's_] _what is_ pope. 89: _even_] f1. _ever_ f2 f3 f4. 102: [aside] pope. 105: _thyself_] _even thyself_ hanmer. 109: _his_] f2 f3 f4. _her_ f1. 112: _hers_] f1 f2. _her_ f3 f4. 114: [aside] pope. 115: _if_] _if that_ warburton. 115, 116: _obdurate, vouchsafe_] _obdurate, o, vouchsafe_ hanmer. 116: _for my love_] om. hanmer. 122: [aside] pope. 125: _since your falsehood shall_] _since you're false, it shall_ johnson conj. 129: [exeunt ... severally] om. f1. [exeunt. f2. 136: _heaviest_] _heavy one_ pope. scene iii. _the same._ _enter eglamour._ _egl._ this is the hour that madam silvia entreated me to call and know her mind: there's some great matter she'ld employ me in. madam, madam! _enter silvia above._ _sil._ who calls? _egl._ your servant and your friend; one that attends your ladyship's command. 5 _sil._ sir eglamour, a thousand times good morrow. _egl._ as many, worthy lady, to yourself: according to your ladyship's impose, i am thus early come to know what service it is your pleasure to command me in. 10 _sil._ o eglamour, thou art a gentleman,-think not i flatter, for i swear i do not,-valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd: thou art not ignorant what dear good will i bear unto the banish'd valentine; 15 nor how my father would enforce me marry vain thurio, whom my very soul abhors. thyself hast loved; and i have heard thee say no grief did ever come so near thy heart as when thy lady and thy true love died, 20 upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. sir eglamour, i would to valentine, to mantua, where i hear he makes abode; and, for the ways are dangerous to pass, i do desire thy worthy company, 25 upon whose faith and honour i repose. urge not my father's anger, eglamour, but think upon my grief, a lady's grief, and on the justice of my flying hence, to keep me from a most unholy match, 30 which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues. i do desire thee, even from a heart as full of sorrows as the sea of sands, to bear me company, and go with me: if not, to hide what i have said to thee, 35 that i may venture to depart alone. _egl._ madam, i pity much your grievances; which since i know they virtuously are placed, i give consent to go along with you; recking as little what betideth me 40 as much i wish all good befortune you. when will you go? _sil._ this evening coming. _egl._ where shall i meet you? _sil._ at friar patrick's cell, where i intend holy confession. _egl._ i will not fail your ladyship. good morrow, 45 gentle lady. _sil._ good morrow, kind sir eglamour. [_exeunt severally._ notes: iv, 3. scene iii.] scene v. pope. dyce makes no new scene here. see note (viii). 4: _madam, madam!_] _madam!_ hanmer. 13: _valiant, wise_] _valiant and wise_ pope. _wise, valiant_ anon. conj. a monosyllable lost before _valiant._ s. walker conj. 17: _abhors_] hanmer. _abhor'd_ f1 f2 f3. _abhorr'd_ f4. 19: _ever_] f1. om. f2 f3 f4. _near_] _near unto_ pope. 31: _rewards_] ff. _reward_ pope. 37, 38: _grievances; which_] _grievances, and the most true affections that you bear; which_ collier ms. 40: _recking_] pope. _wreaking_ f1. 42: _evening coming_] _coming evening_ anon. conj. scene iv. _the same._ _enter launce, with his dog._ _launce._ when a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that i brought up of a puppy; one that i saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it! i have taught him, even as one would say precisely, 'thus i 5 would teach a dog.' i was sent to deliver him as a present to mistress silvia from my master; and i came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg: o, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! i would have, as 10 one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. if i had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, i think verily he had been hanged for't: sure as i live, he had suffered for't: you shall judge. he thrusts 15 me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs, under the duke's table: he had not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. 'out with the dog!' says one: 'what cur is that?' says another: 'whip him out,' says the third: 'hang 20 him up,' says the duke. i, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: 'friend,' quoth i, 'you mean to whip the dog?' 'ay, marry, do i,' quoth he. 'you do him the more wrong,' quoth i; ''twas i did the thing 25 you wot of.' he makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. how many masters would do this for his servant? nay, i'll be sworn, i have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed; i have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, 30 otherwise he had suffered for't. thou thinkest not of this now. nay, i remember the trick you served me when i took my leave of madam silvia: did not i bid thee still mark me, and do as i do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? 35 didst thou ever see me do such a trick? _enter proteus and julia._ _pro._ sebastian is thy name? i like thee well, and will employ thee in some service presently. _jul._ in what you please: i'll do what i can. _pro._ i hope thou wilt. [_to launce_] how now, you whoreson peasant! 40 where have you been these two days loitering? _launce._ marry, sir, i carried mistress silvia the dog you bade me. _pro._ and what says she to my little jewel? _launce._ marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells 45 you currish thanks is good enough for such a present. _pro._ but she received my dog? _launce._ no, indeed, did she not: here have i brought him back again. _pro._ what, didst thou offer her this from me? 50 _launce._ ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman boys in the market-place: and then i offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. _pro._ go get thee hence, and find my dog again, 55 or ne'er return again into my sight. away, i say! stay'st thou to vex me here? [_exit launce._ a slave, that still an end turns me to shame! sebastian, i have entertained thee, partly that i have need of such a youth, 60 that can with some discretion do my business, for 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout; but chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, which, if my augury deceive me not, witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth: 65 therefore know thou, for this i entertain thee. go presently, and take this ring with thee, deliver it to madam silvia: she loved me well deliver'd it to me. _jul._ it seems you loved not her, to leave her token. 70 she is dead, belike? _pro._ not so; i think she lives. _jul._ alas! _pro._ why dost thou cry, 'alas'? _jul._ i cannot choose but pity her. _pro._ wherefore shouldst thou pity her? _jul._ because methinks that she loved you as well 75 as you do love your lady silvia: she dreams on him that has forgot her love; you dote on her that cares not for your love. 'tis pity love should be so contrary; and thinking on it makes me cry, 'alas!' 80 _pro._ well, give her that ring, and therewithal this letter. that's her chamber. tell my lady i claim the promise for her heavenly picture. your message done, hie home unto my chamber, where thou shalt find me, sad and solitary. [_exit._ 85 _jul._ how many women would do such a message? alas, poor proteus! thou hast entertained a fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. alas, poor fool! why do i pity him that with his very heart despiseth me? 90 because he loves her, he despiseth me; because i love him, i must pity him. this ring i gave him when he parted from me, to bind him to remember my good will; and now am i, unhappy messenger, 95 to plead for that which i would not obtain, to carry that which i would have refused, to praise his faith which i would have dispraised. i am my master's true-confirmed love; but cannot be true servant to my master, 100 unless i prove false traitor to myself. yet will i woo for him, but yet so coldly, as, heaven it knows, i would not have him speed. _enter silvia, attended._ gentlewoman, good day! i pray you, be my mean to bring me where to speak with madam silvia. 105 _sil._ what would you with her, if that i be she? _jul._ if you be she, i do entreat your patience to hear me speak the message i am sent on. _sil._ from whom? _jul._ from my master, sir proteus, madam. 110 _sil._ o, he sends you for a picture. _jul._ ay, madam. _sil._ ursula, bring my picture there. go give your master this: tell him, from me, one julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 115 would better fit his chamber than this shadow. _jul._ madam, please you peruse this letter.-pardon me, madam; i have unadvised deliver'd you a paper that i should not: this is the letter to your ladyship. 120 _sil._ i pray thee, let me look on that again. _jul._ it may not be; good madam, pardon me. _sil._ there, hold! i will not look upon your master's lines: i know they are stuff'd with protestations, 125 and full of new-found oaths; which he will break as easily as i do tear his paper. _jul._ madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. _sil._ the more shame for him that he sends it me; for i have heard him say a thousand times 130 his julia gave it him at his departure. though his false finger have profaned the ring, mine shall not do his julia so much wrong. _jul._ she thanks you. _sil._ what say'st thou? 135 _jul._ i thank you, madam, that you tender her. poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much. _sil._ dost thou know her? _jul._ almost as well as i do know myself: to think upon her woes i do protest 140 that i have wept a hundred several times. _sil._ belike she thinks that proteus hath forsook her. _jul._ i think she doth; and that's her cause of sorrow. _sil._ is she not passing fair? _jul._ she hath been fairer, madam, than she is: 145 when she did think my master loved her well, she, in my judgement, was as fair as you; but since she did neglect her looking-glass, and threw her sun-expelling mask away, the air hath starved the roses in her cheeks, 150 and pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, that now she is become as black as i. _sil._ how tall was she? _jul._ about my stature: for, at pentecost, when all our pageants of delight were play'd, 155 our youth got me to play the woman's part, and i was trimm'd in madam julia's gown; which served me as fit, by all men's judgements, as if the garment had been made for me: therefore i know she is about my height. 160 and at that time i made her weep agood, for i did play a lamentable part: madam, 'twas ariadne passioning for theseus' perjury and unjust flight; which i so lively acted with my tears, 165 that my poor mistress, moved therewithal, wept bitterly; and, would i might be dead, if i in thought felt not her very sorrow! _sil._ she is beholding to thee, gentle youth. alas, poor lady, desolate and left! 170 i weep myself to think upon thy words. here, youth, there is my purse: i give thee this for thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lovest her. farewell. [_exit silvia, with attendants._ _jul._ and she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. 175 a virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! i hope my master's suit will be but cold, since she respects my mistress' love so much. alas, how love can trifle with itself! here is her picture: let me see; i think, 180 if i had such a tire, this face of mine were full as lovely as is this of hers: and yet the painter flatter'd her a little, unless i flatter with myself too much. her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: 185 if that be all the difference in his love, i'll get me such a colour'd periwig. her eyes are grey as glass; and so are mine: ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. what should it be that he respects in her, 190 but i can make respective in myself, if this fond love were not a blinded god? come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, for 'tis thy rival. o thou senseless form, thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved, and adored! 193 and, were there sense in his idolatry, my substance should be statue in thy stead. i'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, that used me so; or else, by jove i vow, i should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 200 to make my master out of love with thee! [_exit._ notes: iv, 4. scene iv.] scene vi. pope. dyce makes no new scene here. see note (viii). the same.] the same. silvia's anti-chamber. capell. 6: _i was sent_] _i went_ theobald. 11: _to be a dog indeed_] _to be a dog, to be a dog indeed_ johnson conj. 20: _the third_] _a third_ hanmer. 23: _you mean_] _do you mean_ collier ms. 26: _makes me no more_] _makes no more_ rowe. 28: _his servant_] _their servant_ pope. 33: _silvia_] _julia_ warburton. 39: _i'll do_] _ile do_ f1. _ile do sir_ f2 f3 f4. _i will do_ malone. 45: _was_] _is_ capell conj. 48: _did she_] f1 f2. _she did_ f3 f4. 50: _this_] _this cur_ collier ms. 51: _the other squirrel_] _the other, squirrel_ hanmer. 51-54: printed as four verses ending _me ... marketplace ... dog ... greater_ ff. pope made the change. 52: _hangman boys_] singer. _hangmans boyes_ f1. _hangmans boy_ f2 f3 f4. _a hangman boy_ collier ms. 57: [exit launce] om. f1. [exit. f2 after line 58. 58: _still an end_] _ev'ry day_ pope. 66: _know thou_] f2 f3 f4. _know thee_ f1. _entertain thee_] f1 f3 f4. _entertaine hee_ f2. 70: _to leave_] f2 f3 f4. _not leave_ f1. _nor love_ johnson conj. 74: _wherefore_] _why_ hanmer. 75: _that_] _if_ hanmer. 81: _give her_] _give to her_ collier ms. _and therewithal_] _and give therewithal_ theobald. _and give her therewithal_ capell. 85: [exit] f2. 95: _am i_] f1 f2. _i am_ f3 f4. 103: enter silvia attended] malone. enter silvia. rowe. 104: _gentlewoman_] ff. _lady_ pope. 110: _from my master,_] _my master; from_ capell. 111: capell adds _does he not?_ 115: _forget_] f1 f2. _forgot_ f3 f4. 117: _please you peruse_] _may 't please you to peruse_ pope. _wilt please you to peruse_ capell. _so please you to peruse_ collier ms. 127: _easily_] f1. _easie_ f2 f3 f4. 138: _dost thou_] _dost_ capell conj. 151: _pinch'd_] _pitch'd_ warburton. _pincte_ becket conj. _pinc'd_ id. conj. 158: _judgements_] _judgment_ capell. 161: _agood_] f2 f3 f4. _a good_ f1. _a-good_ theobald. 168: _felt_] _feel_ seward conj. 169: _beholding_] _beholden_ pope. 172: _my purse_] f1. _a purse_ f2 f3 f4. 174: _farewell_] om. pope. [exit ... attendants] dyce, after 175. [exit. f2. om. f1. [exit s. singer, after 175. 178: _my mistress'_] _his mistress'_ hanmer. 185: _auburn_] rowe. _aburne_ ff. 188: _grey as glass_] f1. _grey as grass_ f2 f3 f4. _green as grass_ collier ms. 189: _mine's as high_] _mine is high_ pope. 197: _statue_] _sainted_ hanmer. _statued_ warburton. _statua_ reed conj. 200: _your_] _thy_ hanmer. 201: [exit.] f2. [exeunt. f1. act v. scene i. _milan. an abbey._ _enter eglamour._ _egl._ the sun begins to gild the western sky; and now it is about the very hour that silvia, at friar patrick's cell, should meet me. she will not fail, for lovers break not hours, unless it be to come before their time; 5 so much they spur their expedition. see where she comes. _enter silvia._ lady, a happy evening! _sil._ amen, amen! go on, good eglamour, out at the postern by the abbey-wall: i fear i am attended by some spies. 10 _egl._ fear not: the forest is not three leagues off; if we recover that, we are sure enough. [_exeunt._ notes: v, 1. scene i. an abbey.] capell. near the friar's cell. theobald. 3: _that_] om. pope. _friar_] om. steevens (1793). 12: _we are_] _we're_ pope. scene ii. _the same. the duke's palace._ _enter thurio, proteus, and julia._ _thu._ sir proteus, what says silvia to my suit? _pro._ o, sir, i find her milder than she was; and yet she takes exceptions at your person. _thu._ what, that my leg is too long? _pro._ no; that it is too little. 5 _thu._ i'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder. _jul._ [_aside_] but love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. _thu._ what says she to my face? _pro._ she says it is a fair one. _thu._ nay then, the wanton lies; my face is black. 10 _pro._ but pearls are fair; and the old saying is, black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. _jul._ [_aside_] 'tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; for i had rather wink than look on them. _thu._ how likes she my discourse? 15 _pro._ ill, when you talk of war. _thu._ but well, when i discourse of love and peace? _jul._ [_aside_] but better, indeed, when you hold your peace. _thu._ what says she to my valour? _pro._ o, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 20 _jul._ [_aside_] she needs not, when she knows it cowardice. _thu._ what says she to my birth? _pro._ that you are well derived. _jul._ [_aside_] true; from a gentleman to a fool. _thu._ considers she my possessions? 25 _pro._ o, ay; and pities them. _thu._ wherefore? _jul._ [_aside_] that such an ass should owe them. _pro._ that they are out by lease. _jul._ here comes the duke. 30 _enter duke._ _duke._ how now, sir proteus! how now, thurio! which of you saw sir eglamour of late? _thu._ not i. _pro._ nor i. _duke._ saw you my daughter? _pro._ neither. _duke._ why then, she's fled unto that peasant valentine; 35 and eglamour is in her company. 'tis true; for friar laurence met them both, as he in penance wander'd through the forest; him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she, but, being mask'd, he was not sure of it; 40 besides, she did intend confession at patrick's cell this even; and there she was not; these likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. therefore, i pray you, stand not to discourse, but mount you presently, and meet with me 45 upon the rising of the mountain-foot that leads toward mantua, whither they are fled: dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [_exit._ _thu._ why, this it is to be a peevish girl, that flies her fortune when it follows her. 50 i'll after, more to be revenged on eglamour than for the love of reckless silvia. [_exit._ _pro._ and i will follow, more for silvia's love than hate of eglamour, that goes with her. [_exit._ _jul._ and i will follow, more to cross that love 55 than hate for silvia, that is gone for love. [_exit._ notes: v, 2. scene ii. the duke's palace.] theobald. 7: jul. [aside] _but love ..._] collier (boswell conj.). pro. _but love ..._ ff. 13: jul. [aside] _'tis true ..._] rowe. thu. _'tis true ..._ ff. 18, 21, 24, 28: [aside] capell. 18: _hold_] _do hold_ capell. 25: _possessions_] _large possessions_ collier ms. 28: _owe_] ff. _own_ pope. 32: _saw sir_] f4. _saw_ f1. _say saw sir_ f2 f3. 34, 35: _why then, she's_] _why then, she's_ capell. 35: _that_] f1. _the_ f2 f3 f4. 40: _it_] _her_ collier ms. 47: _toward_] _towards_ pope. 48: [exit.] rowe. 50: _when_] f1. _where_ f2 f3 f4. 51: _on_] _of_ pope. 52: [exit.] capell. 54: [exit.] capell. 56: [exit.] capell. [exeunt. ff. scene iii. _the frontiers of mantua. the forest._ _enter _outlaws_ with silvia._ _first out._ come, come, be patient; we must bring you to our captain. _sil._ a thousand more mischances than this one have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. _sec. out._ come, bring her away. 5 _first out._ where is the gentleman that was with her? _third out._ being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us, but moses and valerius follow him. go thou with her to the west end of the wood; there is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled; 10 the thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. _first out._ come, i must bring you to our captain's cave: fear not; he bears an honourable mind, and will not use a woman lawlessly. _sil._ o valentine, this i endure for thee! [_exeunt_. 15 notes: v, 3. scene iii. the ... mantua] capell. the forest.] pope. 8: _moses_] capell. _moyses_ ff. 10: _we'll_] om. pope. 11: [exeunt. capell. scene iv. _another part of the forest._ _enter valentine._ _val._ how use doth breed a habit in a man! this shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, i better brook than flourishing peopled towns: here can i sit alone, unseen of any, and to the nightingale's complaining notes 5 tune my distresses and record my woes. o thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless, lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, and leave no memory of what it was! 10 repair me with thy presence, silvia; thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain! what halloing and what stir is this to-day? these are my mates, that make their wills their law, have some unhappy passenger in chase. 15 they love me well; yet i have much to do to keep them from uncivil outrages. withdraw thee, valentine: who's this comes here? _enter proteus, silvia, and julia._ _pro._ madam, this service i have done for you, though you respect not aught your servant doth, 20 to hazard life, and rescue you from him that would have forced your honour and your love; vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; a smaller boon than this i cannot beg, and less than this, i am sure, you cannot give. 25 _val._ [_aside_] how like a dream is this i see and hear! love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. _sil._ o miserable, unhappy that i am! _pro._ unhappy were you, madam, ere i came; but by my coming i have made you happy. 30 _sil._ by thy approach thou makest me most unhappy. _jul._ [_aside_] and me, when he approacheth to your presence. _sil._ had i been seized by a hungry lion, i would have been a breakfast to the beast, rather than have false proteus rescue me. 35 o, heaven be judge how i love valentine, whose life's as tender to me as my soul! and full as much, for more there cannot be, i do detest false perjured proteus. therefore be gone; solicit me no more. 40 _pro._ what dangerous action, stood it next to death, would i not undergo for one calm look! o, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved, when women cannot love where they're beloved! _sil._ when proteus cannot love where he's beloved. 45 read over julia's heart, thy first, best love, for whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths descended into perjury, to love me. thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, 50 and that's far worse than none; better have none than plural faith which is too much by one: thou counterfeit to thy true friend! _pro._ in love who respects friend? _sil._ all men but proteus. _pro._ nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 55 can no way change you to a milder form, i'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, and love you 'gainst the nature of love,--force ye. _sil._ o heaven! _pro._ i'll force thee yield to my desire. _val._ ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, 60 thou friend of an ill fashion! _pro._ valentine! _val._ thou common friend, that's without faith or love, for such is a friend now; treacherous man! thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye could have persuaded me: now i dare not say 65 i have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me. who should be trusted now, when one's right hand is perjured to the bosom? proteus, i am sorry i must never trust thee more, but count the world a stranger for thy sake. 70 the private wound is deepest: o time most accurst, 'mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! _pro._ my shame and guilt confounds me. forgive me, valentine: if hearty sorrow be a sufficient ransom for offence, 75 i tender 't here; i do as truly suffer as e'er i did commit. _val._ then i am paid; and once again i do receive thee honest. who by repentance is not satisfied is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. 80 by penitence the eternal's wrath's appeased: and, that my love may appear plain and free, all that was mine in silvia i give thee. _jul._ o me unhappy! [_swoons._ _pro._ look to the boy. 85 _val._ why, boy! why, wag! how now! what's the matter? look up; speak. _jul._ o good sir, my master charged me to deliver a ring to madam silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. 90 _pro._ where is that ring, boy? _jul._ here 'tis; this is it. _pro._ how! let me see: why, this is the ring i gave to julia. _jul._ o, cry you mercy, sir, i have mistook: this is the ring you sent to silvia. 95 _pro._ but how camest thou by this ring? at my depart i gave this unto julia. _jul._ and julia herself did give it me; and julia herself hath brought it hither. _pro._ how! julia! 100 _jul._ behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, and entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. how oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! o proteus, let this habit make thee blush! be thou ashamed that i have took upon me 105 such an immodest raiment, if shame live in a disguise of love: it is the lesser blot, modesty finds, women to change their shapes than men their minds. _pro._ than men their minds! 'tis true. o heaven, were man 110 but constant, he were perfect! that one error fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins: inconstancy falls off ere it begins. what is in silvia's face, but i may spy more fresh in julia's with a constant eye? 115 _val._ come, come, a hand from either: let me be blest to make this happy close; 'twere pity two such friends should be long foes. _pro._ bear witness, heaven, i have my wish for ever. _jul._ and i mine. 120 _enter _outlaws_, with duke and thurio._ _outlaws._ a prize, a prize, a prize! _val._ forbear, forbear, i say! it is my lord the duke. your grace is welcome to a man disgraced, banished valentine. _duke._ sir valentine! _thu._ yonder is silvia; and silvia's mine. 125 _val._ thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death; come not within the measure of my wrath; do not name silvia thine; if once again, verona shall not hold thee. here she stands: take but possession of her with a touch: 130 i dare thee but to breathe upon my love. _thu._ sir valentine, i care not for her, i: i hold him but a fool that will endanger his body for a girl that loves him not: i claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 135 _duke._ the more degenerate and base art thou, to make such means for her as thou hast done, and leave her on such slight conditions. now, by the honour of my ancestry, i do applaud thy spirit, valentine, 140 and think thee worthy of an empress' love: know, then, i here forget all former griefs, cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, plead a new state in thy unrival'd merit, to which i thus subscribe: sir valentine, 145 thou art a gentleman, and well derived; take thou thy silvia, for thou hast deserved her. _val._ i thank your grace; the gift hath made me happy. i now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, to grant one boon that i shall ask of you. 150 _duke._ i grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. _val._ these banish'd men that i have kept withal are men endued with worthy qualities: forgive them what they have committed here, and let them be recall'd from their exile: 155 they are reformed, civil, full of good, and fit for great employment, worthy lord. _duke._ thou hast prevail'd; i pardon them and thee: dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. come, let us go: we will include all jars 160 with triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. _val._ and, as we walk along, i dare be bold with our discourse to make your grace to smile. what think you of this page, my lord? _duke._ i think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. 165 _val._ i warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. _duke._ what mean you by that saying? _val._ please you, i'll tell you as we pass along, that you will wonder what hath fortuned. come, proteus; 'tis your penance but to hear 170 the story of your loves discovered: that done, our day of marriage shall be yours; one feast, one house, one mutual happiness. [_exeunt._ notes: v, 4. scene iv. another ... forest.] capell. the outlaw's cave in the forest. theobald. 2: _this shadowy desert,_] _these shadowy, desert,_ collier ms. 8: _so_] _too_ collier ms. 14: _are my_] _my rude_ collier ms. 18: [steps aside. johnson. 19: _i have_] f1 f2 f3. _have i_ f4. _having_ collier ms. 25: _i am_] _i'm_ pope. 26, 32: [aside] theobald. 26: _is this i see and hear!_] theobald. _is this? i see and hear:_ ff. 43: _and still approved_] _for ever prov'd_ pope. 49: _to love me_] f1. _to deceive me_ f2 f3 f4. 57: _woo_] _wooe_ f1. _move_ f2 f3 f4. 58: _ye_] ff. _you_ warburton. 63: _treacherous man_] f1. _thou treacherous man_ f2. _though treacherous man_ f3. _tho treacherous man_ f4. 65: _now_] om. pope. 67: _trusted now, when one's_] f2 f3 f4. _trusted, when one's_ f1. _trusted, when one's own_ johnson. _trusted now, when the_ pope. 69: _i am_] _i'm_ pope. 71: _o time most accurst_] _o time accurst_ hanmer. _o time most curst_ johnson. _o spite accurst_ s. verges conj. 72: _all foes that a friend_] _all my foes a friend_ collier ms. 73: _confounds_] _confound_ rowe. _my ... confounds me_] _my shame and desperate guilt at once confound me_ collier ms. 82, 83: blackstone proposes to transfer these lines to the end of thurio's speech, line 135. 84: [swoons.] pope. 86-90: printed by capell as four verses ending _matter ... me ... silvia ... done._ 86: _what's_] _what is_ capell. 88: _to deliver_] _deliver_ steevens conj. 92: _see_] _see it_ steevens conj. suggesting that lines 92-97 should end at _ring ... sir ... sent ... this?_ (om. _ring_) _... julia._ 93: _why, this is_] _this is_ pope. _why, 'tis_ s. verges conj. 96: _but_] om. pope. 102: _'em_] _them_ capell. 103: _root_] _root on't_ hanmer. 112: _all the sins_] _all th' sins_ ff. _all sins_ pope. 118: _be long_] _long be_ pope. 120: _and i mine_] _and i have mine_ steevens (ritson conj.). [embracing. capell. 121: scene v. pope. 122: _forbear, forbear, i say!_] _forbear, i say!_ capell. _forbear, forbear!_ pope. 124: _banished_] _the banish'd_ pope. 129: _verona shall not hold_] _milan shall not behold_ theobald. _and milan shall not hold_ hanmer. _milano shall not hold_ collier ms. see note (vii). 143: _again,_] _again._ steevens (tyrwhitt conj.). 144: _unrival'd_] f1. _arrival'd_ f2 f3 f4. 160: _include_] _conclude_ hanmer. 161: _rare_] f1. _all_ f2 f3 f4. 164: _page_] _stripling page_ collier ms. 167: _saying?_] _saying, valentine?_ collier ms. 171: _loves discovered_] _love discovered_ pope. _love's discoverer_ collier ms. 172: _that done, our ... yours_] _our day of marriage shall be yours no less_ collier ms. notes. note i. dramatis personæ. we have followed steevens and the later editors in reading 'proteus' for 'protheus'; for though the latter form is invariably used in the folios, and was, in all probability, what shakespeare wrote, yet in choosing the name he doubtless meant to compare the fickle mind of the lover with the changeable form of the god. we have written 'panthino,' not 'panthion,' because the authority of the first folio preponderates in favour of the former, in itself the more probable form of an italian proper name. 'panthion' occurs in f1, among 'the names of all the actors,' and in a stage direction at the beginning of act ii sc. 2, but never in the text. 'panthino' is found twice in the text, and once in a stage direction at the beginning of act i. sc. 3. the blunder 'panthmo,' i. 3. 76, which is the reading of f1, shows that the original ms. had 'panthino,' not 'panthion.' note ii. i. 1. 28 sqq. mr sidney walker (_criticisms on shakespeare_, iii. p. 9) says we ought 'perhaps' to read 'no, i will not, for it boots not.' doubtless he meant also to re-arrange the following lines, and so get rid of the alexandrine at 30; thus: '_val._ no, i will not, for it boots not. _pro._ what? _val._ to be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,' &c. note iii. i. 2. 53. _what a fool is she._ the first folio reads 'what 'foole is she,' doubtless to indicate an ellipsis of the indefinite article, which, for the sake of the metre, was to be slurred over in pronunciation. as we have not followed the folio in reading _th'_ or _th_ for _the_ before a consonant, so we have thought it best to insert here the omitted letter _a_, especially as the use of the apostrophe is by modern custom much more restricted than it was in the folio. for example, we find _'save for god save_ (_tempest_, ii. 1. 162), and _at 'nostrils for at's nostrils_ or _at the nostrils_ (_id._ ii. 2. 60). note iv. ii. 1. 68, 69. this passage is corrupt. the usual explanation, which satisfies delius, is inadmissible, because valentine would certainly not appear, like the knight of la mancha, without his hose. a rhyming couplet was probably what the author intended. many conjectures might be made, as for example: 'for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to beyond your nose.' or, 'to put spectacles on your nose.' or possibly, 'to put on your shoes,' the point of which remark valentine's disordered dress might make clear to the audience. rosalind, when enumerating the marks of a man in love, mentions the untied shoe as well as the ungartered hose, _as you like it_, act iii. sc. 2. the same misprint, 'hose' for 'shoes,' occurs in the first edition of greene's _groatsworth of wit_. see mr dyce's preface to his edition of greene's _dramatic works_, p. xxviii. note v. ii. 4. 7, 95, 111. as speed after line 7 does not say a word during the whole of this long scene, we have sent him off the stage. it is not likely that the clown would be kept on as a mute bystander, especially when he had to appear in the following scene. the folios give line 110 to thurio, who, if the reading be right, must have quitted the stage during the scene. the most probable time for this would be on proteus' entrance, line 95. mr dyce however argues that 'thurio, after what the duke, in the presence of silvia, had said to him about welcoming proteus, would hardly run off the moment proteus appeared.' but thurio is not held up as a model of courtesy, and he might as well be off the stage as on it, for any welcome he gives to proteus. besides, in line 101 valentine ignores thurio altogether, who, if he had been present, would not have remained silent under the slight. on the whole, we think that the arrangement we have given is the best, as involving no change in the original reading. the question however is a difficult and doubtful one--indeed, far more difficult and doubtful than it is important, or instructive. note vi. ii. 4. 192. theobald's correction, 'mine eye,' or as mr spedding suggests, 'my eye' ('my eie' in the original spelling), is supported by a passage in the _comedy of errors_, iii. 2. 55: 'it is a fault that springeth from your eye.' if this were not satisfactory, another guess might be hazarded: 'is it mine _unstaid mind_ or valentine's praise.' the resemblance of 'mine' and 'mind' in the printer's eye (final d and final e being perpetually mistaken for each other) might cause the omission of the two words. 'valentine' is found as a dissyllable i. 2. 38. 'sir valentine's page, &c.': perhaps also iii. 1. 191: 'there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a valentine,' and, if capell's arrangement be right, v. 2. 34. note vii. ii. 5. 1, iii. 1. 81, and v. 4. 129. we have retained 'padua' in the first of these passages and 'verona' in the second and third, because it is impossible that the words can be a mere printer's, or transcriber's, error. these inaccuracies are interesting as showing that shakespeare had written the whole of the play before he had finally determined where the scene was to be laid. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * sources: the editors' preface (e-text 23041) discusses the 17thand 18th-century editions in detail; the newer (19th-century) editions are simply listed by name. the following editions may appear in the notes. all inset text is quoted from the preface. folios: f1 1623; f2 (no date given); f3 1663; f4 1685. "the five plays contained in this volume occur in the first folio in the same order, and ... were there printed for the first time." early editions: rowe 1709 pope 1715 "pope was the first to indicate the _place_ of each new scene; as, for instance, _tempest_, i. 1. 'on a ship at sea.' he also subdivided the scenes as given by the folios and rowe, making a fresh scene whenever a new character entered--an arrangement followed by hanmer, warburton, and johnson. for convenience of reference to these editions, we have always recorded the commencement of pope's scenes." theobald 1733 hanmer ("oxford edition") 1744 warburton 1747 johnson 1765 capell 1768; _also capell's annotated copy of f2_ steevens 1773 malone 1790 reed 1803 later editions: singer, knight, cornwall, collier, phelps, halliwell, dyce, staunton errors and inconsistencies: [text-critical notes] ii. 3. 20: _oh, the dog is me_] [_body text punctuates "oh! the"_] ii. 4. 58: know] [_body text has "know", not capitalized_] ii. 5. 1: padua] [_body text has "the same", referring back to ii. 4 "milan"_] iv. 4. 95: _am i_] f1 f2. _i am_ f3 f4. [f3 f3] 