William Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 3 Scene 1

                              SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE's palace.       Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS DUKE       Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;       We have some secrets to confer about.       Exit THURIO       Now, tell me, PROTEUS, what's your will with me? PROTEUS       My gracious lord, that which I would discover       The law of friendship bids me to conceal;       But when I call to mind your gracious favours       Done to me, undeserving as I am,       My duty pricks me on to utter that       Which else no worldly good should draw from me.       Know, worthy prince, Sir VALENTINE, my friend,       This night intends to steal away your daughter:       Myself am one made privy to the plot.       I know you have determined to bestow her       On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;       And should she thus be stol'n away from you,       It would be much vexation to your age.       Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose       To cross my friend in his intended drift       Than, by concealing it, heap on your head       A pack of sorrows which would press you down,       Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. DUKE       PROTEUS, I thank thee for thine honest care;       Which to requite, command me while I live.       This love of theirs myself have often seen,       Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,       And oftentimes have purposed to forbid       Sir VALENTINE her company and my court:       But fearing lest my jealous aim might err       And so unworthily disgrace the man,       A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,       I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find       That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.       And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,       Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,       I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,       The key whereof myself have ever kept;       And thence she cannot be convey'd away. PROTEUS       Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean       How he her chamber-window will ascend       And with a corded ladder fetch her down;       For which the youthful lover now is gone       And this way comes he with it presently;       Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.       But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly       That my discovery be not aimed at;       For love of you, not hate unto my friend,       Hath made me publisher of this pretence. DUKE       Upon mine honour, he shall never know       That I had any light from thee of this. PROTEUS       Adieu, my Lord; Sir VALENTINE is coming.       Exit       Enter VALENTINE DUKE       Sir VALENTINE, whither away so fast? VALENTINE       Please it your grace, there is a messenger       That stays to bear my letters to my friends,       And I am going to deliver them. DUKE       Be they of much import? VALENTINE       The tenor of them doth but signify       My health and happy being at your court. DUKE       Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;       I am to break with thee of some affairs       That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.       'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought       To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. VALENTINE       I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match       Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman       Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities       Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:       Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him? DUKE       No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,       Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,       Neither regarding that she is my child       Nor fearing me as if I were her father;       And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,       Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;       And, where I thought the remnant of mine age       Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,       I now am full resolved to take a wife       And turn her out to who will take her in:       Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;       For me and my possessions she esteems not. VALENTINE       What would your Grace have me to do in this? DUKE       There is a lady in Verona here       Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy       And nought esteems my aged eloquence:       Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor       For long agone I have forgot to court;       Besides, the fashion of the time is changed       How and which way I may bestow myself       To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. VALENTINE       Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:       Dumb jewels often in their silent kind       More than quick words do move a woman's mind. DUKE       But she did scorn a present that I sent her. VALENTINE       A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.       Send her another; never give her o'er;       For scorn at first makes after-love the more.       If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,       But rather to beget more love in you:       If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;       For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.       Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;       For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away!'       Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;       Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.       That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,       If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. DUKE       But she I mean is promised by her friends       Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,       And kept severely from resort of men,       That no man hath access by day to her. VALENTINE       Why, then, I would resort to her by night. DUKE       Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe,       That no man hath recourse to her by night. VALENTINE       What lets but one may enter at her window? DUKE       Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,       And built so shelving that one cannot climb it       Without apparent hazard of his life. VALENTINE       Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,       To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,       Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,       So bold Leander would adventure it. DUKE       Now, as thou art a gentleman of 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 everything 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 colour. 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: 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.       Pulling out a paper       Here is the cate-log of her condition.       'Imprimis: 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 blackest news that ever thou heardest. SPEED       Why, man, how black? LAUNCE       Why, as black as ink. SPEED       Let me read them. LAUNCE       Fie on thee, jolt-head! 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       There; and St. Nicholas be thy speed! SPEED       [Reads] 'Imprimis: 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 washed       and scoured. 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 kissed 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; and 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 North-gate. SPEED       For me? LAUNCE       For thee! ay, who art thou? he hath stayed for a       better man than thee. SPEED       And must I go to him? LAUNCE       Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed 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 swinged for reading my letter; an       unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into       secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction.       Exit