William Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona
W. G. Clark, W. Aldis Wright, Ed.

SCENE I

Duke.
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;

We have some secrets to confer about. [Exit Thu.


Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?

Pro.
My gracious lord, that which 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 (9)


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 (20)


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, (30)


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 mayest 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.

Pro.
Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean

How he her chamber-window will ascend (40)


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.

Pro.
Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. [Exit.
Enter VALENTINE.

Duke.
Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?

Val.
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?

Val.
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 (60)


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.

Val.
I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match

Were rich and honorable; 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, (70)


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. (80)

Val.
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.

Val.
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words: (90)


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.

Val.
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. (100)


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. (110)

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,

And 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, (120)


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 everything 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 (130)


Under a cloak that is of any length.

Duke.
A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

Val.
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.

What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!

And here an engine fit for my proceeding. (140)


I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads.


'My thoughts do harbor 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.' (150)


What's here?

'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.'

'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.

Why, Phaethon,--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, (166)


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.

Val.
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; (180)


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.

Pro.
Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

Launce.
Soho, soho!

Pro.
What seest thou?

Launce.
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.

Launce.
Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? (200)

Pro.
Who wouldst thou strike?

Launce.
Nothing.

Pro.
Villain, forbear.

Launce.
Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,--

Pro.
Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.

Val.
My ears are stopt 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, untuneable and bad.

Val.
Is Silvia dead? (210)

Pro.
No, Valentine.

Val.
No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.

Hath she forsworn me?

Pro.
No, Valentine.

Val.
No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.

What is your news?

Launce.
Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

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,a

And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro.
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, (231)


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.

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, (240)


As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro.
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-afairs.

As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,

Regard thy danger, and along with me!

Val.
I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy

Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. (259)

Pro.
Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

Val.
O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Val. and Pro.

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
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 (280)
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. (290)

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? (310)

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 (320)
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 (340)
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 (351)
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. (360)
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,-- (380)

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 (391)
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.