Cannot your grace win her to faney him? Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, And turn her out to who will take her in : 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 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. Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces. 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, Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 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, bark 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? 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? 1 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! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [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 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 should be. Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee : Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 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 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? Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 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 Valentinę. 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, untuneable, 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 hath forsworn me!What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are van ish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd, 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. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd? Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, 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, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. |