The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.

PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!

Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS

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 ‘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. Here is the cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. ‘Inprimis: 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 black’st 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, jolthead; 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. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.

SPEED. [Reads] ‘Inprimis: 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 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 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 kiss’d 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 sleep 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, 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; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-SPEED. What then?

LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee-that thy master stays for thee at the Northgate.

SPEED. For me?

LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath 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

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 correction. Exit

SCENE II.

Milan. 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.

THURIO. 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?

PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.

DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.

PROTEUS. 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 some sign of good desert-Makes me the better to confer with thee.

PROTEUS. 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.

PROTEUS. I do, my lord.

DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will.

PROTEUS. 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?

PROTEUS. 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.

PROTEUS. 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.

PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath 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.

PROTEUS. 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 weed her love from Valentine, It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.

THURIO. 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.

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

PROTEUS. 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.

PROTEUS. 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 such 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.

THURIO. 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!

PROTEUS. 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_4|SC_1

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ACT IV. SCENE I.

The frontiers of Mantua. A forest

Enter certain OUTLAWS

FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.

SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with ‘em.

Enter VALENTINE and SPEED

THIRD OUTLAW. 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 That all the travellers do fear so much.

VALENTINE. My friends—

FIRST OUTLAW. That’s not so, sir; we are your enemies.

SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we’ll hear him.

THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.

VALENTINE. 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.

SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?

VALENTINE. To Verona.

FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?

VALENTINE. From Milan.

THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn’d there?

VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay’d, If crooked