The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

a holy kiss.

PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o’erslips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love’s forgetfulness!

My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now-nay, not thy tide of tears: That tide will stay me longer than I should.

Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA What, gone without a word?

Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.

 

Enter PANTHINO

 

PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay’d for.

PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.

Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt

SCENE III.

Verona. A street

 

Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog

 

LAUNCE. Nay, ‘twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv’d my proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I’ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on ‘t! There ‘tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog-O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so.

Now come I to my father: ‘Father, your blessing.’ Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her-why there ‘tis; here’s my mother’s breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

 

Enter PANTHINO

 

PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp’d, and thou art to post after with oars. What’s the matter? Why weep’st thou, man? Away, ass! You’ll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.

LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

PANTHINO. What’s the unkindest tide?

LAUNCE. Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog.

PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou’lt lose the flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy service-Why dost thou stop my mouth?

LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?

LAUNCE. In thy tale.

PANTHINO. In thy tail!

LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar’st.

PANTHINO. Will thou go?

LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt

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 knock’d 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.

 

Enter DUKE

 

SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.

DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.

Sir Valentine, your father is 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 knew him as myself; for from our infancy We have convers’d 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 unmellowed, 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 DUKE

VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship Had come along with me but that his mistresss Did hold his eyes lock’d in her crystal looks.

SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis’d 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. Exit THURIO

 

Enter PROTEUS

 

SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.

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 chas’d 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 flow’r 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