The dramatic works of William Shakspere, from the text of Johnson, Stevens [sic] & Reed, with glossarial notes, his life, etc. by N. Rowe

song, like a robin-red-breast; 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 wench that hath buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after 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 you. Val. Without me? They cannot. Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you were so simple, none else would but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady.

Val. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ?

Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?

Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I

mean.

Speed. Why, Sir, I know her not.

Speed. O, 'give you good aven! Here's a million of manners. [Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him.

Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; letter, Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship.

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

For, being ignorant to whom it goes, Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly [off;

I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on Please you command, a thousand times as

her, and yet know'st her not?

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, Sir?
Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
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 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.

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.

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 had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered!

Val. What should I see then?

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

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

shoes.

Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, And yet,[much: Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; And yet I will not name it:-and yet I care

not;

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

yet.

[Aside.

Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it?

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

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, Sir, at my re

quest:

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:

labour;

And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your
And so good-morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA.
Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible.
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her
a steeple!
[suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

better?

excellent device! was there ever heard a That my master, being scribe, to himself should

write the letter?

Val. How now, Sir? what are you reasoning

with yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason.

Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. a figure.

Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not ceive the jest?

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you indeed, Sir; But did you perceive her earnest?

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 deliver'd, and there an end.*

think, Crab my dog to be the sourest-nature dog that lives: my mother weeping, my fathe wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruelper-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 seen our parting; why, my grandani having no eyes look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it: This shoe is my father;-no, this left shoe is my father:no, no, this left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so neither;-yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole; This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; A vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, Sir, this staff is my sister; 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 him self, and I am the dog,-0, the dog is me, and I am myself: ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing; now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on :-now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman;well, I kiss her;-why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath up and down: now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

Val. I would, it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often you have 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,

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto
her lover.-
[it.

All this I speak in print; for in print I found
Why muse you, Sir? 'tis dinner time.

Val. I have dined.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, Sir: though the
cameleon 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.

SCENE II-Verona.-A Room in JULIA'S
House.

Enter PROTEUS and JULIA.'

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

sooner:

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy
And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day,
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now: nay not the tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should;
[Exit JULIA.
Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to
grace it.

Enter PANTHINO.

Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro. Go; I come, I come :-

Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

Pan. What's the unkindest tide?

Laun. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog.

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth?

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

Pan. In thy tail?

Luun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide !-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.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan. Wilt thou go?

[Exeunt.

Laun. Well, I will go.

DUKE'S Palace.

SCENE III.-The sume.-A Street.

Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Milan.-An Apartment in the

Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have Enter Valentine, SILVIA, TRURIO, and Speed.

done weeping; all the kindt of the Launces have this very fault: I have received my pronortion, like the prodigious son, and am going

Sil. Servant

Val. Mistress?

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Crazy, distracted.

Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress then.

Speed. Twere good, you knocked him. Sil. Servant, you are sad.*

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply,t I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I, that I am not?
Val. Wise.

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.

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, colour?

Sir Thurio? do you change

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of cameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than 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 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 Thurió borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and 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; 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.

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 you Don Antonio, your coun-
tryman?

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 we i deserves

The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well?

. I knew him as myself; for from our
infancy
[gether:
We have convers'd, and spent our hours to-
And though myself have been an idle truant,
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;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth

* Chserve.

Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature, and in mind,"
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
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;
And here he means to spend his time a whiie:
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:--
For Valentine, I need not 'citet him to it:
I'll send him hither to you presently.

[Exit DUKE. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your lady.

ship,

Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd Upon some other pawn for fealty.

[them

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? Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of

eye:

Was this the idol that you worship so?

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 And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not [pills; Yet let her be a principality, [divine, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress.

Val. Sweet, except not any; 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 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?

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies noShe is alone.

Pro. Then let her alone.

[thing;

Val. Not for the world: why man, she is

mine own;

And I as rich in having such a jewel,
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 seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
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?

Vul. Ay, and we are betroth'd;
Nay, more, our marriage hour,

With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd 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,
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. Val. Will you make haste? Pro. I will.—

[Exit VAL.

Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression.
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love ;-
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:
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,
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.
SCENE V.-The same.-

Enter SPEED and LUNCE.

eet.

Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan.

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; that a man is never undone, till he be hanged; for I am not welcome. I reckon this alwaysnor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap. I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master shot of fivepence, thou shalt have five thousand part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest they parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? Shall he marry her?
Luun. No, neither.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?

Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not.

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not? My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou say'st?

Laun. Ay and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one.

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.

Speed. Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce,

Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
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;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself ain dearer than a friend;
For love is still more precious than itself:
And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair!
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,
Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
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:+
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended‡ flight;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceed-
ing.

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!

[Exit.

Intended.

SCENE VII.-Verona.-A Room in JULIA'E 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 engrav'd,To lesson me; and tell me some good mean, 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;
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?

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 would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot
But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire;
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou dani'st* it up, the more

it burns;

The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge [stones,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage
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,
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.

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The dramatic works of William Shakspere, from the text of Johnson, Stevens ...