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And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wide 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,
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
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,
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, What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, 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, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st 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?

I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
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,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone.
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear.
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,
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;
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 lov'st me, do him not that wrong, 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 loving journey. 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.

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SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-chamber in the DUKE'S (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd)

Palace.

Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile: We have some secrets to confer about.-[Exit THURIO. 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; But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am,

My duty pricks me on to utter that,

Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep,
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court;
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,
And so unworthily disgrace the man,

I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently,
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is coming.
[Exit.

Enter VALENTINE, in his cloak.

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?

Val. The tenor 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.

'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
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,
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,
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady in Milano here, Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence : Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, (For long agone I have forgot to court; Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) 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, More than quick words do move a woman's mind.

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.

Send her another; never give her o'er,

away."

For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone,
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For "get you gone," she doth not mean,
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why, then I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe,
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window?
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. 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.

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?— 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!

[Ladder and letter fall out.

I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads.
"My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying:
O! could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them;

While I, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because myself do want my servant's fortune.

I curse myself, for they are sent by me,

That they should harbour where their lord should be."
What's here?

"Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:"
"Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.-
Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder; over-weening slave:
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,
And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence.

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee:
But if thou linger in my territories

Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Begone: I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
[Exit DUKE.

Val. And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die is to be banish'd from myself,
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment.
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon.
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.
Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy; run, run, and seek him out.
Launce. So-ho! so-ho!

Pro. What seest thou?

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?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

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 zo be in love: yet I am in love;

Launce. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor
Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike?
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 stopp'd, and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possess'd them.

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !— Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!— What is your news?

Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are
vanish'd.

Pro. That thou art banish'd: O! that is the news,
From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend.
Val. O! I have fed upon this woe already,
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force)
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd,
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe:
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire,
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

who 'tis I love; ard yet 'tis a woman: but what
woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-
maid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips:
yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves
for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-
spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is
the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions.
Imprimis, "She can fetch and carry." Why, a horse
can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only
carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item,
"She can milk;" look you, a sweet virtue in a maid
with clean hands.
Enter SPEED.

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

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?

Launce. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.
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.
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.
Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper.
Launce. There, and saint Nicholas be thy speed!
Speed. Imprimis, "She can milk."
Launce. Ay, that she can.

Speed. Item, "She brews good ale."

Launce. And thereof comes the proverb,-Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, "She can sew."

Launce. That's as much as to say, Can she so?
Speed. Item, "She can knit."

Launce. What need a man care for a stock with a

Val. No more; unless the next word that thou wench, when she can knit him a stock?

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.

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
And study help for that which thou lamentest,
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
The time now serves not to expostulate:
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate,
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love affairs.
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate.
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.
Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!
[Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS.
Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have

Speed. Item, "She can wash and scour."

Launce. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd.

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; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.

Speed. Here follow her vices.

Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues.

Speed. Item, "She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath."

Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.

Speed. Item, "She hath a sweet mouth.'

Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath.

Speed. Item," She doth talk in her sleep."

Launce. It's no matter for that, so she slip not in her talk.

Speed. Item, "She is slow in words."

Launce. O villain! that set this down among her vices? To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue. Speed. Item, "She is proud."

Launce. Out with that too: it was Eve's legacy, Makes me the better to confer with thee. and cannot be ta'en from her.

Speed. Item, "She hath no teeth."

Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love

crusts.

Speed. Item, "She is curst."

Launce. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
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 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." 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: 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!
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?

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 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
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?

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:
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 loth to do:
"Tis an ill office for a gentleman,
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.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord. If I can do it,
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say, this wean her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio.
Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
You must provide to bottom it on me;
Which must be done, by praising me as much

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,-that thy master Lest it should ravel and be good to none, stays for thee at the north-gate.

Speed. For me?

Launce. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. stay'd for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him?

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd
so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.
Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your
love letters!
[Exit, running.
Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my
letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself
into secrets. I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correc-
tion.
[Exit.

SCENE II.-The Same. An Apartment in 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 despis'd me most;
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

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.-
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.
Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou hast shown sure sign of good desert)

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
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,
When you may temper her, by your persuasion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend.
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.

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
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover strict integrity:

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire-lamenting elegies,

Visit by night your lady's chamber window

With some sweet consort: to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence
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,
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.

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.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-A Forest, between Milan and Verona.
Enter certain Outlaws.

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast: I see a passenger.
2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.
Enter VALENTINE and SPEed.

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about
you;

If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.

But to the purpose; for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives:
And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd
With goodly shape; and by your own report
A linguist, and a man of such perfection,
As we do in our quality much want—

3 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.
Are you content to be our general?

Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains To make a virtue of necessity,

That all the travellers do fear so much.

Val. My friends,

1 Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies.

2 Out. Peace! we'll hear him.

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper

man.

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. 2 Out. Whither travel you?

Val. To Verona.

1 Out. Whence came you?

Val. From Milan.

3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there?

Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might have stay'd,

If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

2 Out. What! were you banish'd thence? Val. I was.

2 Out. For what offence?

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.

1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so.
But were you banish'd for so small a fault?
Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.
1 Out. Have you the tongues?

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Or else I had been often miserable.

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction.

1 Out. We'll have him. Sirs, a word.

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2 Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take to? Val. Nothing, but my fortune.

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,

Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth

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.

2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman,

Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these.

And live, as we do, in this wilderness?

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort? Say, ay, and be the captain of us all.

We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,
Love the as our commander, and our king.

1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.
2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have
offer'd.

Val. I take your offer, and will live with you;
Provided that you do no outrages

On silly women, or poor passengers.

3 Out. No; we detest such vile, base practices. Come, go with us: we'll bring thee to our cave, And show thee all the treasure we have got,

Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Milan. The Court of the Palace.
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,
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,
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd:
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.
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.

Thu. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Thu. Whom? Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia,—for your sake.

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

Enter Host and JULIA (in boy's clothes), behind. 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

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