Act III
Scene I
Milan. The Duke’s palace.
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. | |
Duke |
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
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Proteus |
My gracious lord, that which I would discover
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Duke |
Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
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Proteus |
Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean
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Duke |
Upon mine honour, he shall never know
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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
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Duke | Be they of much import? |
Valentine |
The tenour of them doth but signify
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Duke |
Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;
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Valentine |
I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match
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Duke |
No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,
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Valentine | What would your Grace have me to do in this? |
Duke |
There is a lady in Verona here
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Valentine |
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:
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Duke | But she did scorn a present that I sent her. |
Valentine |
A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.
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Duke |
But she I mean is promised by her friends
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Valentine | Why, then, I would resort to her by night. |
Duke |
Ay, but the doors be lock’d and keys kept safe,
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Valentine | What lets but one may enter at her window? |
Duke |
Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,
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Valentine |
Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,
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Duke |
Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
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Valentine | When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. |
Duke |
This very night; for Love is like a child,
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Valentine | By seven o’clock I’ll get you such a ladder. |
Duke |
But, hark thee; I will go to her alone:
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Valentine |
It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
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Duke | A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? |
Valentine | Ay, my good lord. |
Duke |
Then let me see thy cloak:
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Valentine | Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. |
Duke |
How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
What’s here?
’Tis so; and here’s the ladder for the purpose.
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Valentine |
And why not death rather than living torment?
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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,
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Proteus |
Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
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Valentine | Is Silvia dead? |
Proteus | No, Valentine. |
Valentine |
No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.
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Proteus | No, Valentine. |
Valentine |
No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.
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Launce | Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. |
Proteus |
That thou art banished—O, that’s the news!—
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Valentine |
O, I have fed upon this woe already,
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Proteus |
Ay, ay; and she hath offer’d to the doom—
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Valentine |
No more; unless the next word that thou speak’st
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Proteus |
Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
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Valentine |
I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
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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 Saint 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. |
Scene II
The same. The Duke’s palace.
Enter Duke and Thurio. | |
Duke |
Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you,
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Thurio |
Since his exile she hath despised me most,
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Duke |
This weak impress of love is as a figure
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Enter Proteus. | |
How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman
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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.
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Proteus |
Longer than I prove loyal to your grace
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Duke |
Thou know’st how willingly I would effect
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Proteus | I do, my lord. |
Duke |
And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
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Proteus | She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. |
Duke |
Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
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Proteus |
The best way is to slander Valentine
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Duke | Ay, but she’ll think that it is spoke in hate. |
Proteus |
Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
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Duke | Then you must undertake to slander him. |
Proteus |
And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:
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Duke |
Where your good word cannot advantage him,
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Proteus |
You have prevail’d, my lord: if I can do it
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Thurio |
Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
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Duke |
And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,
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Proteus |
As much as I can do, I will effect:
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Duke |
Ay,
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Proteus |
Say that upon the altar of her beauty
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Duke | This discipline shows thou hast been in love. |
Thurio |
And thy advice this night I’ll put in practice.
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Duke | About it, gentlemen! |
Proteus |
We’ll wait upon your grace till after supper,
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Duke | Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt. |