The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

blood,
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Valentine 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.

Valentine 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?

Valentine

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? Valentine Ay, my good lord. Duke

Then let me see thy cloak:
I’ll get me one of such another length.

Valentine 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.
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 hither them importune,
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?

“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! overweening 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.
Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence. Exit.

Valentine

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, illumined, 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. Proteus Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Launce Soho, soho! Proteus What seest thou? Launce Him we go to find: there’s not a hair on’s head but ’tis a Valentine. Proteus Valentine? Valentine No. Proteus Who then? his spirit? Valentine Neither. Proteus What then? Valentine Nothing. Launce Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? Proteus Who wouldst thou strike? Launce Nothing. Proteus Villain, forbear. Launce Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing: I pray you⁠— Proteus Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. Valentine

My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possess’d them.

Proteus

Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad.

Valentine Is Silvia dead? Proteus No, Valentine. Valentine

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

Proteus No, Valentine. Valentine

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

Launce Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. Proteus

That thou art banished⁠—O, that’s the news!⁠—
From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend.

Valentine

O, I have fed upon this woe already,
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Proteus

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;
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 chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of biding there.

Valentine

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.

Proteus

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.
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 lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me!

Valentine

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

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: