SCENE II.-Milan. 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,1
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. 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.

Enter Host, at a distance; 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

Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing,
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.
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 ery heart-strings.

Host. You have a quick ear.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart.

1 Sudden quips, hasty, passionate reproaches.

Host. I perceive, you delight not ir music. Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.

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, often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he loved her out of all nick,2

Jul. Where is Launce?

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his 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! will so plead, That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. Thu. Where meet we?

Pro. At Saint Gregory's well.

Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt THU. and Musicians. SILVIA appears above, at her window. 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'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.
Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Sil. What is 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. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery, That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows Return, return, and make thy love amends. 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. Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; But she is dead.

Jul. "Twere false, if I should speak it; For, I am sure, she is not buried.

[Aside.

Sil. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,

I am betroth'd: And art thou not asham'd

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.

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. Jul. He heard not that.

[Aside

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 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; And to your shadow will I make true love. Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it,

And make it but a shadow, as I am.

[Aside.

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; But, since your falsehood shall become you we" 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 PROTEUS; and SILVIA from above. Jul. Host, will you go?

Host. By my halidom,' I was fast asleep.

2 i. e. Out of all reckoning or count; reckonings were kept upon nicked or notched sticks or tallies.

3 Halidom, (says Minsheu,) an old word, used by old countrywomen by manner of swearing.

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
According to your ladyship's impose,2
I am thus early come, to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman,
(Think not, I flatter, for I swear, I do not,)
Valiant, wise, remorseful,3 well accomplish'd.
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good-will
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine;
Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd."
Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say,
No grief did ever come so near thy heart,
As when thy lady and thy true love died,
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.4
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,
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,
Which heaven and fortune still reward 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,
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,

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, gentle lady.

Sil. Good-morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. Enter LAUNCE, with his Dog.

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

1 The double superlative is very often used by the writers of Shakspeare's time.

to it! I have taught him-even as one would say precisely, Thus I 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 diningchamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. Ó, 'tis a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as 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 suffer'd for't: you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the of company three or four gentleman-like dogs, under the duke's table: he had not been there (bless the mark) a with the dog, says one; What cur is that? says pissing while; but all the chamber smelt him. Out another; Whip him out, says the third; Hang 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 1 did the thing you wot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for their 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, otherwise he had suffered for't: thou think'st not of this now!-Nay, I remember the trick you served me, when I took my leave of madame Silvia: did not Í bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When dids thou see me heave up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? 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 will do what I can. Pro. I hope, thou wilt.-How now, you whoreson [TO LAUNCE. Where have you been these two days loitering? Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

peasant!

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

Pro. But she received my dog?

Laun. No, indeed, did she not here have I brought him back again.

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's 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 Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say: Stay'st thou to vex me here? A slave, that, still an end turns me to shame. [Exit LAUNCE. Sebastian, I have entertained thee," Partly, that I have need of such a youth, That can with some discretion do my business For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt; But, chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour: Which (if my augury deceive me not)

tion.

grief.

6 To reck is to care for So in Hamlet: "And recks not his own read."

7 i. e. restrain.

8 Still an end, and most an end, are vulgar expres sions, and mean perpetually, generally See Gifford's Massinger, iv. 282.

"Now help, good heaven! 'tis such an uncouth thing

To be a widow out of Term-time! I

Do feel such aguish qualms, and dumps, and fits,
And shakings still an end"
The Ordinary

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ?

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her.

Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her?

Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well

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!

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 PROTEUS.
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?
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!)
To plead for that, which I would not obtain;
To carry that which I would have refus'd;

To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd. am my master's true confirmed love;

I

But cannot be true servant to my master,
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet I will 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.
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.
Sil. Ohe sends you for a picture?
Jul. Ay, madam.

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there.

[Picture brought.
Go, give your master this: tell him from me,
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter.-
Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not;
This is the letter to your ladyship.

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 stuffed with protestations,
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,

1 i. e. in good earnest, tout de bon.

2 To passion was used as a verb formerly.

Jul. About my stature: for, at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
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 judgment,
As if the garment had been made for me;
Therefore, I know she is about my height.
And, at that time, I made her weep a good,'
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,
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 beholden to thee, gentle youth!-
Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!—

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 lov'st

Farewell.

her.

[Exit SILVIA. Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.

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,
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
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,
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, lov'd, and ador'd;
And, were there sense in this idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead.

5 A high forehead was then accounted a feature eminently beautiful. Our author, in The Tempest, shows that low foreheads were in disesteem. with foreheads villanous low.

6 Respective, i. e. considerative, regardful, v. Mer chant of Venice, Act v. Sc. 1.

4 By grey eyes were meant what we now call blue eyes. Grey, when applied to the eyes is rendered by Coles, in his Dictionary, 1679, Ceruleus, glaucus

Stowe says (speaking of Elizabeth's funeral,) that when the people beheld "her statue or picture lying upon the coffin, there was a general sighing." Thus hi the City Madam,' by Massinger, Sir John Frugal de