William Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 2 Scene 4

                                SCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE's palace.       Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED SILVIA       Servant! VALENTINE       Mistress? SPEED       Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. VALENTINE       Ay, boy, it's for love. SPEED       Not of you. VALENTINE       Of my mistress, then. SPEED       'Twere good you knocked him.       Exit SILVIA       Servant, you are sad. VALENTINE       Indeed, madam, I seem so. THURIO       Seem you that you are not? VALENTINE       Haply I do. THURIO       So do counterfeits. VALENTINE       So do you. THURIO       What seem I that I am not? VALENTINE       Wise. THURIO       What instance of the contrary? VALENTINE       Your folly. THURIO       And how quote you my folly? VALENTINE       I quote it in your jerkin. THURIO       My jerkin is a doublet. VALENTINE       Well, then, I'll double your folly. THURIO       How? SILVIA       What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour? VALENTINE       Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. THURIO       That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live       in your air. VALENTINE       You have said, sir. THURIO       Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. VALENTINE       I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. SILVIA       A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. VALENTINE       'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. SILVIA       Who is that, servant? VALENTINE       Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir       Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,       and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. THURIO       Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall       make your wit bankrupt. VALENTINE       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. SILVIA       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? VALENTINE       My lord, I will be thankful.       To any happy messenger from thence. DUKE       Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? VALENTINE       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? VALENTINE       Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves       The honour and regard of such a father. DUKE       You know him well? VALENTINE       I know him as myself; for from our infancy       We have conversed and spent our hours together:       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       Comes 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 awhile:       I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. VALENTINE       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 cite him to it:       I will send him hither to you presently.       Exit VALENTINE       This is the gentleman I told your ladyship       Had come along with me, but that his mistress       Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. SILVIA       Belike that now she hath enfranchised them       Upon some other pawn for fealty. VALENTINE       Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. SILVIA       Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind       How could he see his way to seek out you? VALENTINE       Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. THURIO       They say that Love hath not an eye at all. VALENTINE       To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:       Upon a homely object Love can wink. SILVIA       Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.       Exit THURIO       Enter PROTEUS VALENTINE       Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,       Confirm his welcome with some special favour. SILVIA       His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,       If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. VALENTINE       Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him       To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. SILVIA       Too low a mistress for so high a servant. PROTEUS       Not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant       To have a look of such a worthy mistress. VALENTINE       Leave off discourse of disability:       Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. PROTEUS       My duty will I boast of; nothing else. SILVIA       And duty never yet did want his meed:       Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. PROTEUS       I'll die on him that says so but yourself. SILVIA       That you are welcome? PROTEUS       That you are worthless.       Re-enter THURIO THURIO       Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. SILVIA       I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,       Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:       I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;       When you have done, we look to hear from you. PROTEUS       We'll both attend upon your ladyship.       Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO VALENTINE       Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? PROTEUS       Your friends are well and have them much commended. VALENTINE       And how do yours? PROTEUS       I left them all in health. VALENTINE       How does your lady? and how thrives your love? PROTEUS       My tales of love were wont to weary you;       I know you joy not in a love discourse. VALENTINE       Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:       I have done penance for contemning Love,       Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me       With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,       With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;       For in revenge of my contempt of love,       Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes       And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.       O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,       And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,       There is no woe to his correction,       Nor to his service no such joy on earth.       Now no discourse, except it be of love;       Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,       Upon the very naked name of love. PROTEUS       Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.       Was this the idol that you worship so? VALENTINE       Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? PROTEUS       No; but she is an earthly paragon. VALENTINE       Call her divine. PROTEUS       I will not flatter her. VALENTINE       O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. PROTEUS       When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,       And I must minister the like to you. VALENTINE       Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,       Yet let her be a principality,       Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. PROTEUS       Except my mistress. VALENTINE       Sweet, except not any;       Except thou wilt except against my love. PROTEUS       Have I not reason to prefer mine own? VALENTINE       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. PROTEUS       Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? VALENTINE       Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing       To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing;       She is alone. PROTEUS       Then let her alone. VALENTINE       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 see'st 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. PROTEUS       But she loves you? VALENTINE       Ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our,       marriage-hour,       With all the cunning manner of our flight,       Determined 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. PROTEUS       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. VALENTINE       Will you make haste? PROTEUS       I will.       Exit VALENTINE       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, or Valentine's praise,       Her true perfection, or my false transgression,       That makes me reasonless to reason thus?       She is 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 cheque my erring love, I will;       If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.       Exit