Val. 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, And turn her out to who will take her in : Vul. What would your grace have me to do in this? Val. 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 scoru a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con tents her. Send her another; never give her o'er ; Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends Val. 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. Val. What lets*, but one may enter at her window? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; Aad built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. Val. 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. Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. 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? Val. 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? Vul. Ay, my good lord. Duke. Then let me see thy cloak; I'll get me one of such another length. Val. 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. * Hinders. What letter is this same? What's here-To Silvia ? [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 thither them impórtune, 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 should be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: "Tis so: and here's the ladder for the purpose.- Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit Duke. Val. And why not death, rather than living tor ment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; Enter Proteus and Launce. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Pro. What seest thou? Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom would'st thou strike? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear: friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have fors worn me!What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news ; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom (Which, unrevers'd, 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, Val. 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 dolour*. Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, • Grief. |