1595 The Two Gentlemen Of Verona
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Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Next page SPEED. By a letter, I should say. VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me. SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? VALENTINE. No, believe me. SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her earnest? VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word. SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter. VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend. SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. VALENTINE. I would it were no worse. SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well. 'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.' All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? 'Tis dinner time. VALENTINE. I have din'd. SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved. Exeunt SCENE II. Verona. JULIA'S house Enter PROTEUS and JULIA PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia. JULIA. I must, where is no remedy. PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return. JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring] PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. JULIA. And seal the bargain with 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 |
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