Original subtitles

[classical instrumental music]

[singing in foreign language]

[coins jingle]

[singing in foreign language]

[claps]

Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus.

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

[chuckles]

We're not affection chains thy tender days.

To the sweet glances of thy honored love,

I rather would entreat thy company.

To see the wonders of the world abroad.

Than, living dully sluggardized at home,

Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

But since thou lov'st, love still

and thrive therein [yawns].

Even as I would when I to love begin.

Wilt thou be gone?

Sweet Valentine, adieu.

[laughs]

Think on thy Proteus when thou haply seest,

some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.

Wish me partaker in thy happiness

when thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger.

If ever danger do environ thee,

commend thy grievance to my holy prayers.

For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

And on a love-book pray for my success?

Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

That's on some shallow story of deep love.

How young Leander crossed the Hellespont.

That is a deep story of a deeper love,

for he was more than over shoes in love.

It is true, for you are over boots in love,

and yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Over the boots?

Nay, give me not the boots.

No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

What?

To be in love,

where scorn is bought with groans.

Coy looks with heart-sore sighs,

one fading moment's mirth,

with twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights.

If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain,

if lost, why then a grievous labor won.

However, but a folly bought with wit.

Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

It is love you cavil at, I am not love.

Love is your master, for he masters you.

And he that is so yoked by a fool,

me thinks should not be chronicled for wise.

Yet writers say, "As in the sweetest bud,

the eating canker dwells, so eating love

inhabits in the finest wits of all."

And writers say, "As the most forward bud

is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

even so by love the young and tender wit

is turned to folly, blasting in the bud.

Losing his verdure, even in the prime."

And all the fair effects of future hopes.

But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee

that art a votary to fond desire?

Once more adieu.

My father at the road expects my coming,

there to see me shipped.

And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Sweet Proteus, no.

Now let us take our leave.

To Milan let me hear from thee by letters,

of thy success in love, and what news else

betideth here in absence of thy friend.

And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

All happiness bechance to thee in Milan.

[laughs]

As much to you at home.

And so...

Farewell.

[wood creaks]

He after honor hunts,

I after love.

He leaves his friends, to dignify them more;

I leave myself,

my friends,

and all, for love.

Thou, Julia,

thou hast metamorphosed me,

made me neglect my studies, lose my time.

War with good counsel, set the world at nought.

Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

[wood creaks]

Sir Proteus, 'save you.

-Saw you my master? -[pants heavily]

But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.

Twenty to one, then, he is shipped already.

And I have played the sheep in losing him.

[laughs]

Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,

and if the shepherd be awhile away.

Uh- huh, you conclude that my master is a shepherd then

and I a sheep?

I do.

Why, then my horns are his horns,

whether I wake or sleep.

A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

This proves me still a sheep.

True, and thy master a shepherd.

Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

It'll go hard but I'll prove it by another.

The shepherd seeks the sheep,

and not the sheep the shepherd, but I seek my master,

and my master seeks not me.

Therefore I am no sheep.

The sheep for food follow the shepherd.

The shepherd for food follows not the sheep.

Thou for wages followest thy master,

thy master for wages follows not thee.

Therefore thou art a sheep.

Such another proof will make me cry [laughs].

But dost thou hear?

Gav'st thou my letter to Julia?

Ay, sir.

I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,

a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me,

a lost mutton, nothing for my labor.

Here's too small a pasture for such store of mutton's.

If the ground be overcharged,

you were best stick her.

Nay, in that you are astray,

it were best pound you.

Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me

for carrying your letter.

You mistake.

I mean the pound, a pinfold.

From a pound to a pin?

Fold it over and over,

'Tis threefold too little

for carrying a letter to your lover.

But what said she?

Hmm

Hmm

Aye.

Aye.

Why, that's noddy.

[laughs]

You mistook, sir.

I say she did nod,

and you ask me if she did nod, and I say, "Aye."

And that set together is noddy.

Now you have taken the pains to set it together,

take it for your pains.

No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter.

Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly, having nothing

but the word noddy

-for my pains. -[laughs]

Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Come, come, open the matter in brief.

What said she?

Open your purse, that the money and the matter

may be both at once delivered.

[mumbles]

Here is for your pains.

What said she?

Truly, sir,

-I think you'll hardly win her. -Why?

Couldst thou perceive so much from her?

Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her,

no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter.

And being so hard to me that brought your mind,

I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind.

Give her no token but stones,

for she's as hard as steel.

What said she?

Nothing?

No, not so much as, "Take this for thy pains."

To testify your bounty,

I thank you, you have testerned me.

In requital whereof, henceforth

carry your letters yourself.

And so, sir, I'll commend

you to my master.

Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wrack,

which cannot perish having thee aboard,

being destined to a drier death on shore.

[classical instrumental music]

I must go send some better messenger.

I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,

receiving them from such a worthless post.

[coins jingle]

[classical instrumental music]

[laughs]

But say, Lucetta, now we are alone.

Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?

Aye, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

Of all the fair resort of gentlemen.

That every day with parle encounter me,

In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind,

according to my shallow simple skill.

What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

[chuckles]

As of a knight, well-spoken, neat, and fine.

But, were I you, he never should be mine.

What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

Well of his wealth, but of himself so-so.

What think'st thou...

of the gentle Proteus?

Lord, Lord, to see what folly reigns in us!

How now?

What means this passion at his name?

Pardon, dear madam, 'tis a passing shame.

That I, unworthy body as I am,

should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

Then thus, of many good, I think him best.

Your reason?

I have no other but a woman's reason.

I think him so because I think him so.

And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

Aye, if you thought your love not cast away.

Why, he of all the rest hath never moved me.

Yet he of all the rest I think best loves you.

His little speaking shows his love but small.

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

They do not love that do not show their love.

Oh, they love least that let men know their love.

I would I knew his mind.

Peruse this paper, madam.

[paper rustles]

To Julia.

Say from whom!

That the contents will show.

Say, say who gave it thee.

Sir Valentine's page, and sent, I think, from Proteus.

He would have given it you, but I, being in the way,

did in your name receive it.

Pardon the fault, I pray.

Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!

[wood creaks]

Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines!

To whisper and conspire against my youth?

Now trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,

and you an officer fit for the place.

There, take the paper; see it be returned,

or else return no more into my sight.

To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

Will ye be gone?

That you may ruminate.

And yet I would I had o'er looked the letter.

It were a shame to call her back again

and pray her to a fault for which I chide her.

What fool is she that knows I am a maid

and would not force the letter to my view.

Since maids in modesty say, no

to that which they would have the profferer construe aye!

[wood creaks]

Fie!

Fie!

How wayward is this foolish love.

That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse

and presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!

How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,

when willingly I would have had her here!

How angrily I taught my brow to frown,.

When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!

My penance is to call Lucetta back,

and ask remission for my folly past.

What ho, Lucetta.

What would your Ladyship?

Is 't near dinner time?

I would it were.

That you might kill your stomach on your meat,

and not upon your maid.

What is 't that you took up so gingerly?

Nothing.

Why didst thou stoop, then?

To take a paper up that I let fall.

And is that paper nothing?

Nothing concerning me.

Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

Madam, it will not lie where it concerns.

Unless it have a false interpreter.

Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.

That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.

Give me a note.

Your ladyship can set.

As little by such toys as may be possible.

Best sing it to the tune of "Light o' Love."

It is too heavy for so light a tune.

Heavy?

Belike it hath some burden then?

Aye, and melodious were it, would you sing it.

And why not you?

I cannot reach so high.

[laughs]

Let's see your song.

[paper rustles]

[gasps]

[mumbles]

Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.

[paper rustles]

And yet methinks I do not like this tune.

-You do not? -No, madam, 'tis too sharp.

You, minion, are too saucy.

Nay, now you are too flat

and mar the concord with too harsh a descant.

There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

The mean is drowned with your unruly bass.

Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.

[chuckles]

This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.

Here is a coil with protestation.

Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie.

You would be fing'ring them to anger me.

She makes it strange, but she would be best pleased

to be so angered with another letter.

Nay, would I were so angered with the same!

Oh hateful hands,

to tear such loving words!

Injurious wasps,

to feed on such sweet honey

and kill the bees that yield it

with your stings!

I'll kiss each several paper for amends.

Look, here is writ,

kind Julia.

Unkind Julia,

as in revenge of thy ingratitude,

I throw thy name against the bruising stones,

trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.

And here is writ,

love-wounded, Proteus.

Poor wounded name,

my bosom as a bed shall lodge thee

till thy wound be throughly healed.

Thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

But twice or thrice was Proteus written down.

Be calm, good wind.

Blow not a word away till I have found

each letter in the letter.

Except mine own name.

That some whirlwind bear

unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock

and throw it thence into the raging sea.

Lo!

Here in one line is his name twice writ,

poor forlorn Proteus,

passionate Proteus,

to the sweet Julia.

That I'll tear away.

And yet...

I will not,

sith so prettily.

He couples it to his complaining names.

Thus will I fold them

one, upon another.

Now kiss, embrace, contend,

do what you will.

Madam?

Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

Well, let us go.

What, shall these papers lie like telltales here?

If you respect them, best to take them up.

Nay, I was taken up for laying them down.

Yet here they shall not lie,

for catching cold.

I see you have a month's mind to them.

Aye, madam, you may say what sights you see.

I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Come, come, will 't please you go?

[mandolin music]

[murmurs]

Tell me, Pantino.

What sad talk was that

wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

Why?

What of him?

He wondered that your Lordship

would suffer him to spend his youth at home,

while other men, of slender reputation.

Put forth their sons to seek preferment out.

Some to the wars to try their fortune there,

some to discover islands far away,

some to the studious universities.

For any or for all these exercises,

he said that Proteus your son was meet.

And did request me to,

importune you to let him spend his time no more at home,

which would be great impeachment to his age.

In having known no travel in his youth.

Nor need'st thou much importune me to that

whereon this month I have been hammering.

I have considered well his loss of time

and how he cannot be a perfect man.

Not being tried and tutored in the world.

Experience is by industry achieved

and perfected by the swift course of time.

Therefore tell me whither were I best to send him.

I think your Lordship is not ignorant

how his companion, youthful Valentine,

attends the Emperor in his royal court.

I know it well.

'Twere good, I think, your Lordship sent him thither.

There shall he practice tilts and tournaments,

hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen.

And be in eye of every exercise worthy his...

Youth and nobleness of birth.

[chuckles]

I like thy counsel.

Well hast thou advised,

and that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,

the execution of it shall make known.

Even with the speediest expedition,

I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court.

Tomorrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,

with other gentlemen of good esteem.

Are journeying to salute the Emperor

and to commend their service to his will.

Good company with them shall Proteus go.

And in good time.

Now will we break with him.

Sweet love.

Sweet lines.

Sweet life.

Here is her hand, the agent of her heart.

Here is her oath for love,

her honor's pawn.

Oh, that our fathers would applaud our loves

to seal our happiness with their consents.

Oh heavenly Julia!

How now?

What letter are you reading there?

May 't please your Lordship,

'tis a word or two

of commendations sent from Valentine.

Delivered by a friend that came from him.

Lend me the letter.

Let me see what news.

There is no news, my lord,

but that he writes how happily he lives,

how well beloved and daily graced by the Emperor.

Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

And how stand you affected to his wish?

As one relying on your Lordship's will,

and not depending on his friendly wish.

My will is something sorted

with his wish.

Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed,

for what I will, I will and there an end.

I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time [chuckles],

with Valentinus in the Emperor's court.

What maintenance he from his friends receives,

like exhibition thou shalt have from me.

Tomorrow be in readiness to go.

Excuse it not,

for I am peremptory

My lord, I cannot be so soon provided.

I Pray you deliberate a day or two.

Look what thou want's shall be sent after thee.

No more of stay.

Tomorrow thou must go.

Come Pantino,

you shall be employed to hasten on his expedition.

[mandolin music]

Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning,

drenched me in the sea, where I am drowned.

[mandolin music]

I feared to show my father Julia's letter,

lest he should take exceptions to my love

and with the vantage of mine own excuse.

Hath he excepted most against my love.

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth,

the uncertain glory of an April day.

Which now shows all the beauty of the sun

and by and by a cloud takes all away.

[loud thuds]

Sir Proteus, your father calls for you.

He is in haste.

Therefore, I pray you, go.

Why, this it is,

my heart accords thereto.

And yet a thousand times it answers no.

♪ Come live with me ♪

♪ And be my love ♪

♪ And we will all thy pleasures ♪

♪ Groom ♪

♪ Let hills and valleys ♪

♪ Dells and kills ♪

♪ Words are skipping in mountain years ♪

♪ Went to her lord Courinyasin ♪

♪ Her voice revives her leaden spins ♪

♪ And have in highest notes thy fear ♪

♪ As any challenge they come clear ♪

♪ But when she dought of morning speak ♪

♪ In With her size ♪

♪ Her size ♪

♪ Her size ♪

♪ The strings to break ♪

♪ But when she dought of morning speak ♪

♪ In With her size ♪

♪ Her size ♪

♪ Her size ♪

♪ The strings to break ♪

♪ The springs to break ♪

[mandolin music]

[footsteps approaching]

Sir, your glove.

Not mine my gloves are on.

Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.

Ha!

Let me see it.

Aye, give it me,

it's mine.

Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!

Ah, Sylvia, Sylvia!

Madam Sylvia!

Madam Sylvia!

How now, sirrah?

She is not within hearing, sir.

Why, sir, who bade you call her?

Your Worship, sir,

or else I mistook.

Well, you'll still be too forward.

And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

Go to, sir.

Tell me, do you know Madam Sylvia?

She that your Worship loves?

Why, how know you that I am in love?

Marry, by these special marks,

first, you have learned,

like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms like a malcontent,

to relish a love song like a robin redbreast

to walk alone like one that had the pestilence,

to sigh like a schoolboy that had lost his ABC.

To weep like a young wench that had buried her grandam.

To fast like one that takes diet,

to watch like one that fears robbing.

To speak puling like a beggar at Hallowmas.

You were won't, when you laughed,

to crow like a cock.

When you walked to walk like one of the lions.

When you fasted, it was presently after dinner

when you looked sadly, it was for want of money.

And now you are metamorphosed

with a mistress, that when I look on you,

I can hardly think you my master.

Are all these things perceived in me?

Uh- huh, they are all perceived without you.

Without me?

They cannot.

Without you?

Nay, that's certain,

for without you were so simple, none else would.

But you are so without these follies,

that these follies are within you.

[chuckles]

And shine through you like the water in an urinal,

that not an eye that sees you

but is a physician to comment on your malady.

But tell me, dost thou know my Lady Sylvia?

She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper.

Hast thou observed that?

Even she I mean.

Why, sir, I know her not.

Dost thou know her by my gazing on her

and yet know'st her not?

Is she not hard-favored, sir?

Not so fair, boy, as well-favored.

Sir, I know that well enough.

What dost thou know?

That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favored.

I mean that her beauty is exquisite

but her favor infinite.

That's because the one is painted

and the other out of all count.

How painted?

And how out of count?

Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair,

that no man counts of her beauty.

How esteem'st thou me?

I account of her beauty.

You never saw her since she was deformed.

How long hath she been deformed?

Ever since you loved her.

[laughs]

I have loved her ever since I saw her

and still I see her beautiful.

If you love her, you cannot see her.

Why?

Because love is blind [chuckles].

[applauds]

Oh, that you had mine eyes,

or your own eyes had the lights

that we would want to have,

when you chide at Sir Proteus for going ungartered.

What should I see then?

Your own present folly and her passing deformity,

for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose

and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

Belike boy, then you are in love,

for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

True, sir, I was in love with my bed.

I thank you, you swinged me for my love,

which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

I would you were sat, so your affection would cease.

Last night she enjoined me to write some lines

to one she loves.

And have you?

I have.

Are they not lamely writ?

No, boy, but as well as I can do them.

Peace, here she comes.

[soft music]

Oh excellent motion!

Oh exceeding puppet!

Now will he interpret to her.

Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

Oh, give ye good even!

Here's a million of manners.

Sir Valentine and servant,

to you two thousand.

He should give her interest

and she gives it him.

[soft instrumental music]

As you enjoined me,

I have writ your letter.

Unto the secret, nameless friend of yours,

which I was much unwilling to proceed in.

But for my duty to your Ladyship.

I thank you, gentle servant,

'tis very clerkly done.

Now trust me madam, it came hardly off,

for being ignorant to whom it goes,

I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Perchance you think too much of so much pains.

No, madam.

So it stead you, I will write,

please you command, a thousand times as much.

And yet...

A pretty period.

Well, I guess the sequel.

And yet I will not name it.

And yet I care not.

And yet take this again.

And yet I thank you,

meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

And yet you will

and yet another yet.

What means your Ladyship?

Do you not like it?

Yes.

Yes.

The lines are very quaintly writ.

But since unwillingly, take them again.

Nay,

take them.

[soft instrumental music]

Madam,

they are for you.

Aye!

Aye you writ them, sir at my request,

But I will none of them.

They are for you.

I would have had them writ more movingly.

Please you, I'll write your Ladyship another.

And when it's writ, for my sake read it over.

And if it please you, so

if not,

why, so.

If it please me, madam?

What then?

Why, if it please you, take it for your labor.

And so good-morrow, servant.

Oh jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible.

As a nose on a man's face

or a weathercock on a steeple!

My master sues to her

and she hath taught her suitor,

he being her pupil, to become her tutor.

Oh excellent device!

Was there ever heard a better?

That my master, being scribe

to himself should write the letter?

How now, sir?

What, are you reasoning with yourself?

Nay, I was rhyming.

'Tis you that have the reason.

To do what?

To be a spokesman from Madam Sylvia.

To whom?

To yourself.

Why, she woos you by a figure.

What figure?

By a letter, I should say.

Why, she hath not writ to me!

What need she,

when she hath made you write to yourself?

Why do you not perceive the jest?

No, believe me.

No believing you indeed, sir.

But did you perceive her earnest?

She gave me none, except an angry word.

She hath given you a letter.

That's the letter I writ to her friend.

And that letter hath she delivered

and there an end.

I would it were no worse.

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.

[chuckles]

All this I speak in print.

For in print I found it.

Why muse you, sir?

'Tis dinnertime.

I have dined.

Aye, but hearken, sir,

though the chameleon love

can feed on the air.

I am one that am nourished

by my victuals and would fain have meat.

Oh, be not like your mistress!

Be moved, be moved.

[orchestral music]

Have patience, gentle Julia.

I must where is no remedy.

When possibly I can, I will return.

If you turn not, you will return the sooner.

Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

Why, then we'll make exchange here,

take you this.

And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

Here is my hand for my true constancy.

And when that arrow slips 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.

What!

Gone without a word?

Aye, so true love should do.

It cannot speak.

For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.

Sir Proteus!

You are stayed for.

Go!

I come, I come.

Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

[man cries]

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping.

All the kind of the Lances have this very fault.

I have received 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 nurse howling,

our cat wringing her hands.

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.

By a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting.

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 this left shoe is my mother.

No that cannot be so neither.

It is so,

for it hath the worser sole.

This shoe with the hole in it

is my mother [mumbles] 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.

And I am the dog.

No, the dog is himself

and I am the dog.

Or, the dog is me and I am myself.

Ay, 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.

Oh, that she could speak now

weeping like a wild woman.

Now should I kiss my mother.

Why, there 'tis,

my mother's breath up and down.

Now come I to my sister.

Mark the moan she makes!

Your the dog all this while.

Sheds not a tear nor speaks a word.

But see how I lay the dust with my tears.

Lance, away!

Away aboard.

Thy master is shipped,

and thou art to post after with oars.

-[weeping] -What's the matter?

Why weep'st thou, man?

Away, ass.

You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer.

It is no matter if the tied were lost,

for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

What's the unkindest tide?

Why, him that's tied here crab my dog.

Tut, man.

I mean thou 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.

But why dost thou stop my mouth?

For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

Where should I lose my tongue?

-In thy tale. -In thy tale!

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'm able to drive the boat with my sighs.

Come, come away, man.

I was sent to call thee.

Sir,

call me what thou dar'st.

Wilt thou go?

Well, I will go.

[dog barks]

[classical instrumental music]

-Servant! -Mistress?

Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Aye, boy, it's for love.

Not of you.

My mistress, then.

'Twere good you knocked him.

Servant, you are sad.

Indeed madam, I seem so.

Seem you that you are not?

Happy I do.

So do counterfeits.

So do you.

-What seem I that I am not? -Wise.

Now what instance of the contrary?

Your folly.

And how quote you my folly?

I quote it in your jerkin.

My jerkin is a doublet.

Well, then, I'll double your folly.

[applauds]

How?

What angry, Sir Thurio?

Do you change color?

Give him leave, madam.

He is a kind of chameleon [laughs].

That hath more mind to feed on your blood

than live in your air.

You have said, sir.

Aye, sir

and done too for this time.

I know it well, sir.

You always end ere begin.

[applauds]

A fine volley of words gentlemen

and quickly shot off.

'Tis indeed, madam.

We thank the giver.

And who is that, servant?

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.

Sir, if you spend word for word with me,

I shall make your wit bankrupt.

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.

No more, gentlemen, no more.

Here comes my father.

[classical instrumental music]

Now daughter Sylvia,

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.

My lord, I will be thankful,

to any happy messenger from thence.

Know you Don Antonio your countryman?

Aye, my good lord, I know the gentleman

to be of worth and worthy estimation

and not without desert so well reputed.

Hath he not a son?

Aye, my good lord, a son that well deserves the honor

and regard of such a father.

You know him well?

I knew him as myself,

for from our infancy we have conversed

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 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,

comes all the praises that I now bestow.

He is complete in feature and in mind.

With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

[applauds]

Beshrew me, sir but if he make this good.

He is as worthy for an empress' love.

As meet to be an emperor's counselor.

Well sir, this gentleman is come to me

with commendation from great potentates.

And here he means to spend his time awhile.

I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

Should I have wished a thing, it had been he.

Welcome him then according to his worth.

Sylvia, I speak to you

and you, Sir Thurio.

For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.

I'll send him over to you presently.

[soft instrumental music]

This is the gentleman, I told your Ladyship.

Had come along with me.

But that his mistress did hold his eyes locked

in her crystal looks.

Belike that now she hath enfranchised them.

Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.

Nay, then he should be blind

and being blind how could he see his way to seek out you?

My lady,

love hath twenty pair of eyes.

They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

To see such lovers Thurio, as yourself.

Upon a homely object, love can wink.

Have done!

Have done, here comes the gentleman.

Welcome, dear Proteus.

Mistress, I beseech you confirm his welcome

with some special favor.

His worth is warrant for his welcome hither.

If this be he you oft have wished to hear from.

Mistress, it is.

Sweet lady, entertain him,

to be my fellow servant to your Ladyship.

Too low a mistress for so high a servant.

Not so, sweet lady,

too mean a servant,

to have a look of such a worthy mistress [laughs].

Leave off discourse of disability.

Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

My duty will I boast of nothing else.

And duty never yet did want his meed.

Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

I'll die on him that says so but yourself.

What that you are welcome?

That you are worthless.

Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.

I wait upon his pleasure.

Come, Sir Thurio,

go with me.

Once more new servant, welcome.

We'll leave you to confer of home affairs.

And when you have done, we look to hear from you.

We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

[soft instrumental music]

[laughs]

Now tell me, how do all from whence you came?

Your friends are well and have them much commended.

And how do yours?

-I left them all in health. -How does your lady?

And how thrives your love?

My tales of love were wont to weary you.

I know you joy not in a love discourse.

Aye, Proteus, but that life is altered now.

I have done penance for contemning love.

Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me,

with bitter fasts, with penitential groans.

[laughs]

With nightly tears and daily heart sore sighs.

For in revenge of my contempt of love.

Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes

and made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.

Oh gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord.

And hath so humbled me as I confess

there is no woe to his correction.

Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth.

Now, no discourse except it be of love.

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep

upon the very naked name of love.

Enough!

I read your fortune in your eye.

Was this the idol that you worship so?

Even she.

And is she not a heavenly saint?

No, but she is an earthly paragon.

Call her divine.

I will not flatter her.

Oh, flatter me, for love delights in praises.

When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills

and I must minister the like to you.

Then speak the truth by her,

if not divine.

Yet let her be a principality,

sovereign to all the creatures on the Earth.

Except my mistress.

Sweet, except not any,

except thou wilt except against my love.

Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

And I will help thee to prefer her too.

She shall be dignified with this high honor.

To bear my lady's train, lest the base Earth,

should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss.

And of so great a favor growing proud.

Disdain to root the summer swelling flower.

And make rough winter everlastingly.

[laughs loudly]

Valentine, what braggartism is this?

Pardon me Proteus, all I can is nothing to her.

Whose worth makes other worthies nothing.

She is alone.

Then let her alone.

Not for the world!

Why man, she is mine own.

And I as rich in having such a jewel is,

twenty seas if all their sand were pearl.

The water, nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

Forgive me that I do not dream on thee.

Because thou seest me dote upon my love.

My foolish rival that her father likes,

only for his possessions are so huge.

Is gone with her along, and I must after for love,

thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

But she loves you?

Aye, and we are betrothed.

Nay more,

our marriage hour.

With all the cunning manner of our flight determined of,

how I must climb her window.

With the ladder made of cords

and all the means plotted

and 'greed on for my happiness.

Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber.

In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

Go on before.

I shall inquire you forth.

I must unto the road to disembark

some necessaries that I needs must use

then I'll presently attend you.

-Will you make haste? -I will.

[thunder roars]

[dramatic music]

[intense dramatic music]

[thunder roars loudly]

Even,

as one heat another heat expels.

Or as one nail by strength drives out another.

[thunder roars]

So the remembrance of my former love

is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Is it my mind?

Or Valentine's praise.

Her true perfection.

My false transgression

that makes me reasonless to reason us?

She is fair.

So is Julia that I love.

That I did love.

For now my love is thawed,

she like a waxen image against a fire,

bears no impression of the thing it was.

Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold.

And that I love him not as I was wont.

But I love his lady too, too much.

And that's the reason I love him so little.

How shall I dote on her with more advice

that thus without advice begin to love her.

'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld

and that hath dazzled my reason's light.

But when I look on her perfections,

there is no reason but I shall be blind.

[breaths heavily]

If I can check my erring love I will.

If not,

to compass her I'll use my skill.

[thunder roars]

Lance!

By mine honesty,

welcome to courts.

For sure thyself not, sweet youth I am not welcome.

I reckon this always.

A man is never undone till he be hanged,

nor is he welcome to a some certain shot be paid

and the hostess say, "Welcome."

Come on, you madcap.

I'll to the alehouse with you presently,

where for one shot of five pence,

thou shalt have 5,000 welcomes.

But sirrah, how did thy master part with Madam Julia?

Marry after they closed in earnest,

they parted very fairly in jest.

Shall she marry him?

-No. -How then shall he marry her?

No, neither.

[mumbles] Are they broken?

No, they are both as whole as a fish.

Why then how stands the matter with them?

Marry thus when it stands well with him,

-it stands well with her. -[laughs]

What an ass art.

Thou I understand thee not.

What a block art thou that thou canst not.

My staff understands me.

What thou sayst?

Aye, and what I do too.

Look thee, I'll but lean in it understands me.

Why it stands under

-thee indeed. -Why, stand under,

understand is all one.

[both laugh]

But tell me true, will 't be a match?

Ask my dog.

If he say, "Yes."

It will,

if he say. "No."

It will.

If he shake his tail and say nothing,

-it will! -The conclusion is then

that it will.

Thou shalt never get such a secret from me

but by a parable.

'Tis well that I get it so.

But Lance how sayst thou

that my master is become a notable lover?

-I never knew him otherwise. -Than how?

A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

Why thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me.

Fool, I meant not thee,

I meant thy master.

I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love.

Now If thou wilt, go to the alehouse with me.

If thou will not hour art Hebrew,

a Jew and not worth the name of a Christian.

Why?

Because thou hast not so much charity in thee

as to go to the ale with a Christian.

Wilt thou go?

At thy service.

[thunder roars loudly]

To leave my Julia,

shall I be forsworn.

To love fair Sylvia, shall I be forsworn.

To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn.

And that power which gave me first my oath provokes me

to this threefold perjury.

Love bade me swear.

And love bids me forswear.

Sweet suggesting love,

if thou hast sinned.

Teach me thy tempted subject to excuse it.

At first I did adore a twinkling star.

But now I worship a celestial sun.

Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken.

And he wants wit that wants resolved will

to learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.

Fie!

Fie!

Reverend tongue, to call her bad.

Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferred

with 20,000 soul confirming oaths [gasps].

I cannot leave to love

and yet I do.

But there I leave to love where I should love.

Julia I lose

and Valentine I lose.

If I keep them,

I needs must lose myself.

If I lose them,

thus find I by their loss.

For Valentine myself, for Julia, Sylvia.

I to myself am dearer than a friend.

And love is still most precious in itself.

And Sylvia,

witness heaven that made her fair.

Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive.

Remembering that my love to her is dead.

And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,

aiming at Sylvia as a sweeter friend.

I cannot now prove constant to myself

without some treachery used to Valentine.

This night he meaneth with a corded ladder

to climb celestial Sylvia's chamber window,

myself in counsel, his competitor.

Now presently I'll give her father notice

of their disguising and pretended flight.

Who all enraged will banish Valentine.

For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter.

But Valentine being gone,

I'll quickly cross by some sly trick,

blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.

[thunder roars]

Love,

lend me wings to make my purpose swift.

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.

[acoustic enchanting music]

Counsel Lucetta.

Gentle girl, assist me.

And even in kind love.

I do conjure thee who art the table

wherein all my thoughts

are visibly charactered and engraved.

To lesson me and tell me some good mean how with my honor.

I may undertake a journey to my loving Proteus.

Alas, the way is wearisome and long.

A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary

to measure kingdoms with his feeble steps.

Much less shall she that hath love's wings to fly.

And when the flight is made to one so dear,

of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.

Better forbear till Proteus make return.

Oh, know'st thou not,

his looks are my soul's food?

Pity the dearth that I have pined in my longing

for that food so long a time.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.

Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,

as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,

but qualify the fire's extreme rage.

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns.

The current that with gentle murmur glides,

thou know'st being stopped, impatiently doth rage.

When his fair course is not hindered.

He makes sweet music with the enameled stones.

Giving a gentle kiss

to every sedge he overtaketh in his pilgrimage.

So by many winding nooks he strays

with willing sport to the wild ocean.

Then let me go and hinder not my course.

I'll be as patient as a gentle stream.

And make a pastime of each weary step.

Till the last step have brought me to my love,

there I'll rest as after much turmoil.

A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

But in what habit will you go along?

Well not like a woman,

for I would prevent the loose encounters of lascivious men.

Gentle Lucetta,

fit me with such weeds,

as may beseem some well reputed page.

Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.

No girl,

I'll knit it up in silken strings,

with twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.

To be fantastic may become a youth

of greater time than I shall show to be.

What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?

That fits as well as tell me good my lord,

what compass will you wear your farthingale?

[chuckles]

Why, ev'n what fashion thou best likes Lucetta.

You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

Out, Lucetta that will be ill-favored.

A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin.

Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins in.

[laughs]

Now as thou lov'st me,

let me have what thou think'st meet

and is most mannerly.

But tell me wench, how will the world repute me,

for undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me it will make me scandalized.

If you think so, then stay at home and go not.

Nay, that I will not.

Then never dream on infamy, but go.

If Proteus like your journey when you come,

no matter who's displeased when you are gone.

I fear me he will scarce be pleased withal.

That is the least Lucetta, of my fear.

A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears.

And instances of infinite of love,

warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

All these are servants to deceitful men.

Base men!

That use them to so base effect.

But truer stars did govern Proteus birth.

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,

his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate.

His tears pure messengers sent from his heart.

His heart as far from fraud as heaven from Earth.

Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him.

Now, as thou loves me, do him not that wrong.

To bear a hard opinion of his truth.

Only deserve my love by loving him.

And presently go with me to my chamber.

To take a note of what I stand in need of,

to furnish me upon my longing journey.

[acoustic enchanting music]

All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,

my goods, my lands, my reputation.

Only in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.

Come answer not but to it presently.

I am impatient of my tarriance.

[acoustic enchanting music]

[orchestral music]

Sir Thurio, give us leave I pray awhile.

We have some secrets to confer about.

Now tell me, Proteus,

what's your will with me?

My gracious lord that which I would discover.

The law of friendship bids me to conceal.

But when I call to mind your gracious favors,

done to me, undeserving as I am.

My duty pricks me on to utter that

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 stolen 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,

a pack of sorrows which would press you down.

Being unprevented to your timeless grave.

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.

A rashness that I ever yet have shunned.

I gave him gentle looks,

thereby to find what how thyself has now disclosed to me.

And that thou mayst perceive my fear of this.

I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,

the keys whereof myself have ever kept.

And thence she cannot be conveyed away.

Know noble lord, they have devised a mean.

How he her chamber window will ascend

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 pretense.

Upon mine honor, he should never know

That I had any light from thee of this.

Adieu, my lord.

Sir Valentine is coming.

Sir Valentine, whither away so fast.

Please it your Grace, there is a messenger.

That stays to bear my letters to my friends.

And I am going to deliver them.

Be they of much import?

The tenor of them doth but signify my health

and happy being at your court.

Nay then, no matter.

Stay with me awhile.

I am to break with thee of some affairs,

that touch me near.

Wherein thou must be secret.

Is not unknown to thee that I have sought,

to match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.

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.

I cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

No.

Trust me.

She is peevish, sullen, froward,

proud, disobedient, stubborn,

lacking in duty.

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.

To have been cherished by her childlike duty.

I now

am full resolved to take a wife.

And turn her out to who will take her in.

And let her beauty be her wedding dower.

For me and my possessions she esteems not.

What would your grace have me to do in this?

There is a lady in the city here whom I,

affect.

But she is nice and coy and,

nought esteems my aged eloquence.

For long agone I have forgot to court.

Besides the fashion of the time is changed.

Now therefore when I have thee to my tutor.

How and which way I may bestow myself

to be regarded in her sun bright eye.

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.

But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

A woman sometime 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, it is not in hate of you.

But rather to beget more love in you.

If she do chide, it is not to have you gone.

Forwhy the fools are mad if left alone.

[chuckles]

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.

[chuckles]

That man that hath a tongue, I say,

is no man.

If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

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.

Why then I would resort to her by night.

Aye, but the doors be locked and keys kept safe.

That no man hath recourse to her by night.

What lets but one may enter at her chamber window?

Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground.

And built so shelving that one cannot climb it

without apparent hazard of his life.

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.

Now as thou art a gentleman of blood.

Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

When would you use it?

Pray sir, tell me that.

This very night for love is like a child.

That longs for everything that he can come by.

By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

But hark thee, I will go to her alone.

How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

It will be light my lord,

that you may bear it under a cloak.

That is of any length.

A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

Aye, my good lord.

Then let me see thy cloak.

I'll get me one of such another length.

Why any cloak will serve the turn my lord.

How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?

Let me feel thy cloak upon me.

What letter is this same?

What's here?

To Sylvia.

And here an engine fit for my proceeding.

I'll make so bold to break the seal for once.

My thoughts do harbor with my Sylvia nightly

and slaves they are to me that send them flying.

Oh 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 importune,

do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them.

Because myself do want my servants fortune.

I curse myself [chuckles],

for they are sent by me.

That they should harbor where their lord should be.

What's here?

Sylvia this night,

I will enfranchise thee.

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

Why Phaeton,

for thou art Merops' son.

Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car

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,

is privilege for thy departure hence.

Thank me for this more than for all the favors

which all too much I have bestowed 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.

Begone I will not hear thy vain excuse.

As thou lov'st thy life,

make speed from hence.

And why not death, rather than living torment?

To die is to be banished from myself,

and Sylvia is myself.

Banished from her

is self from self,

a deadly banishment.

What light is light

if Sylvia be not seen?

What joy is joy,

if Sylvia be not by.

Unless it be to think that she is by

and feed upon the shadow of perfection.

Except I be by Sylvia in the night,

there is no music in the nightingale.

Unless I look on Sylvia 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.

Fostered.

Illumined.

Cherished.

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.

Run boy!

Run, run and seek him out.

So-ho, so-ho!

What thou see?

Him we seek there's not a hair on 's head

but 'tis a Valentine!

[wood creaking]

-Valentine. -No.

Who then his spirit?

-Neither. -What then?

-Nothing. -Can nothing speak,

Master shall I strike?

Who wouldst thou strike?

-Nothing. -Villain, forbear.

I'll strike nothing, sir I pray you.

-Sirrah! -I say forbear.

Friend Valentine, a word.

My ears are stopped and cannot hear good news.

So much of bad already hath possessed them.

Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,

for they are harsh, untunable, and bad.

Is Sylvia dead?

No, Valentine.

No Valentine indeed for sacred Sylvia.

Hath she forsworn me?

No, Valentine.

No Valentine if Sylvia have forsworn me.

What is your news?

Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

That thou art banished.

That's the news.

From hence from Sylvia, and from me thy friend.

Oh, I have fed upon this woe already.

And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

Doth Sylvia know that I am banished?

Aye, aye, and she hath offered 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 tendered.

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, nor pure hands held up.

Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver shedding tears,

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.

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 dolor.

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 delivered

even in the milk white bosom of thy love.

Come the time now serves not to expostulate.

I'll convey thee through the city gate.

And ere I part with thee,

confer at large of all that may concern thy love affairs.

As thou lov'st Sylvia, though not for thyself,

regard thy danger and along with me.

I pray thee Lance,

an if thou seest my boy.

Bid him make haste and meet me at the North Gate.

Go sirrah!

Seek him out.

Come Valentine.

Oh, my dear Sylvia.

Helpless Valentine.

I am but a fool

and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind,

of knave.

But that's all one,

if he be but one knave.

[chuckles]

He lives not now that knows me to be in love

and 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.

[chuckles]

What woman I will not tell myself

and yet 'tis a milk-maid.

[chuckles]

And yet it is 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.

Here is the catalog 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.

A sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

[footsteps approaching]

[Lance whistles]

How now, Signior Lance?

What news with your Mastership?

My mastership?

Why, it is at sea.

Well your old vice still,

-[chuckles loudly] -mistake the word.

What news then in your paper?

The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.

Why, man?

-How black? -Why, as black as ink!

Let me read them.

Fie on thee jolt-head, thou canst not read.

[chuckles]

Thou liest I can.

I will try thee.

Tell me this, who begot thee?

Marry the son of my grandfather.

Oh, illiterate loiterer.

It was the son of thy grandmother.

This proves that thou canst not read.

Come fool, come.

Try me in thy paper.

There and Saint Nicholas

be thy speed.

[chuckles]

Imprimis, she can milk.

She can that.

Item, she brews good ale.

And thereof comes the proverb,

"A blessing of your heart, you brew good ale."

Item, she can sow.

That's as much as to say, can she sow?

Item, she can knit.

What need a man care for a stock with a wench.

When she can knit him a stock.

Item, she can wash and scour.

A special virtue,

for then she need not be washed and scoured.

Item, she can spin.

Then may I set the world on wheels,

when she can spin for her living.

Item, she hath many nameless virtues.

That's as much as to say bastard virtues,

that indeed know not their fathers

and therefore have no names.

Here follow her vices.

Close at the heels of her virtues.

Item, she is not to be kissed fasting in respect

of her breath.

That fault may be mended with a breakfast.

Read on.

Item, she hath a sweet mouth.

That makes amends for her sour breath.

Item, she doth talk in her sleep.

It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.

Item, she is slow in words.

Oh villain,

that set this down among her vices.

To be slow in words is a woman's chief virtue.

I pray out with it and set it for her chief virtue.

Item, she is proud.

Out with that too,

that is Eve's legacy

and cannot be ta'en from her.

Item, she hath no teeth.

I care not for that neither because I love crusts.

Item, she is cursed.

Well the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.

[laughs]

Item, she will often praise her liquor.

Well if her liquor be good, she shall.

For if she will not I will,

for good things should be praised.

Item, she is too liberal.

Of her tongue she cannot be,

for that's writ down she is slow of,

of her purse she shall not be.

For that I'll keep shut.

Now of another thing,

she may be and that cannot I help.

Well, proceed.

Item, she hath more hair than wit

and more faults than hairs

and more wealth than faults.

Stop there I'll have her.

She was mine and not mine twice or thrice

in that last article I pray.

Rehearse that once more.

Item, she hath more hair than wit.

More hair than wit?

That 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?

And more faults than hairs.

That's monstrous.

Oh, that that were out.

And more wealth than faults.

Why that word makes the faults gracious.

I'll have her and if it be a match,

as such things are nothing is impossible.

What then?

Why then will I tell thee

that thy master stays

for thee

at the North

Gate.

-For me? -Aye for thee!

Aye, what thou art?

Hath stayed for a better man than thee.

And must I go to him?

Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long

that going will scarce serve the turn.

Why didst not tell me sooner?

-[laughs] -Pox of your love letters!

Now will he be swing ish for reading my letter.

An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets.

I will after and rejoice in the boy's correction [giggles].

[dramatic music]

Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you.

Now Valentine is banished from her sight.

But since his exile she hath despised me most.

Forsworn my company and railed at me.

That I am desperate of obtaining her.

This weak impress of love.

Is as a figure trenched in ice,

which with an hours heat dissolves to water

and doth lose his form.

A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,

and worthless Valentine shall be forgot.

How now, Sir Proteus?

Is your countryman,

according to our proclamation, gone?

Gone, my good lord.

My daughter takes his going grievously.

A little time my lord, will kill that grief.

So I believe, but Thurio thinks not so.

Proteus,

the good conceit I hold of thee,

for thou hast shown some sign of good desert.

Makes me the better to confer with thee.

Longer than I prove loyal to your grace.

Let me not live to look upon your grace.

Thou know'st how willingly I would effect the match

between Sir Thurio and my daughter?

I do, my lord.

Also I think, thou art not ignorant.

How she opposes her against my will.

She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.

Aye, and perversely she perseveres so.

What might we do,

to make the girl forget the love of Valentine

and love,

Sir Thurio?

The best way is to slander Valentine

with falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent.

Three things that women highly hold in hate.

Aye, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate.

Aye, if his enemy deliver it.

Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken,

by one whom she esteemeth as his friend.

Then you must undertake to slander him.

That my lord, I shall be loath to do.

'Tis an ill office for a gentleman.

Especially against his very friend.

Where your good word cannot advantage him.

Your slander never can endamage him.

Therefore the office is indifferent being entreated

to it by your friend.

You have prevailed, my lord.

If I can do it by aught

that I can speak in his dispraise,

she shall not long continue love to him.

But say this wind her love from Valentine,

It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.

Therefore, as you unwind her love from him.

Lest it should ravel and be good to none.

You must provide to bottom it on me.

Which must be done by praising me,

as much as you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.

And Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind.

Because we know on Valentine's report.

You are already love's firm votary

and cannot soon revolt and change your mind.

Upon this warrant shall you have access

where you with Sylvia may confer at large.

For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,

and for your friend's sake, will be glad of you.

Where you may temper her by your persuasion,

to hate young Valentine and love,

my friend.

As much as I can do I will effect.

But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough.

You must lay lime to tangle her desires

with wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes should

be full-fraught with serviceable vows.

Aye, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.

Say that upon the altar of her beauty,

you sacrifice your tears,

your sighs, your heart.

Write till your ink be dry

and with your tears moist it again

to frame some feeling line.

That may discover such integrity.

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews.

Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,

make tigers tame and huge leviathans,

forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

After your dire-lamenting elegies.

Visit by night your lady's chamber window

with some sweet consort, to their instruments tune

at a deploring dump.

The night's dead silence will well

become such sweet complaining grievance.

This or else nothing, will inherit her.

[chuckles]

This discipline shows thou hast been in love.

And thy advice this night I'll put in practice.

Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,

let us into the city presently to,

sort some gentlemen well-skilled in music.

I have a sonnet that will serve the turn

to give the onset to thy good advice.

About it gentlemen.

We'll wait upon your grace till after supper

and afterward determine our proceedings.

Even now about it!

[loud thuds]

I will pardon you.

[classic instrumental music]

Fellows, stand fast.

I see a passenger.

[enchanting flute music]

If there be ten, shrink not

but down with 'em.

[enchanting flute music]

Stand sir!

And throw us that you have about ye.

If not we'll make you sit and rifle you.

[laughs loudly]

[laughs]

Sir, we are undone,

these are the villains

that all the travelers do fear so much.

-My friends-- -That's not so, sir.

-We are your enemies. -[laughs loudly]

Peace we'll hear him.

Aye, by my beard!

Will we, for he is a proper man.

Then know that I have little wealth to lose.

A man I am crossed with adversity,

my riches are these poor habiliments.

Of which if you should here disfurnish me.

You take the sum and substance that I have.

Whither travel you?

To Verona.

Whence came you?

From Milan.

Have you long sojourned there?

Some sixteen months and longer might have stayed,

if crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

What were you banished thence?

-I was. -For what offense?

For that which now torments me to rehearse,

I killed a man, whose death I much repent.

But yet I slew him manfully in fight

without false vantage or base treachery.

Why, now repent then if it were done so.

[laughs loudly]

But were you banished for so small a fault?

I was, and held me glad of such a doom.

Have you the tongues?

My youthful travel therein made me happy

or else I often had been miserable.

By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar!

This fellow were a king for our wild faction!

We'll have him!

Sirs, a word!

Master, be one of them.

It's an honorable kind of thievery.

Peace, villain.

[thieves cheer]

Tell us this have you anything to take to?

Nothing but my fortune.

Know then that some of us are gentlemen.

Such as the fury of ungoverned youth.

Thrust from the company of awful men.

Myself was from Verona banished for,

practicing to steal away a lady,

an heir and near allied unto the Duke.

And I from Mantua for a gentleman who in my mood,

I stabbed unto the heart.

And I for such like,

-petty crimes as these. -[laughs loudly]

But to the purpose,

for we cite our faults.

That they may hold excused our lawless lives

and partly seeing you are beautified

with goodly shape.

And by your own report a linguist

and a man of such perfection.

As we do in our quality much want.

Indeed because you are a banished man,

therefore above the rest we parley to you.

Are you content to be our general.

To make a virtue of necessity

and live as we do in this wilderness?

What sayst thou?

Wilt thou be of our consort?

Say aye!

And be the captain of us all!

We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee.

Love thee as our commander and our king.

But if thou scorn our courtesy,

thou diest!

[laughs loudly]

Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offered.

[laughs]

I take your offer and will live with you.

[thieves cheer]

Provided that you do no outrages on,

silly women or poor passengers.

No!

We detest such vile base practices.

Come, go with us.

We'll bring thee to our crews.

And show thee all the treasure we have got,

which, with ourselves all rest thy dispose!

[thieves cheer blissfully]

-[birds chirping] -[owl hoots]

-[birds chirping] -[owl hoots]

Already have I been false to Valentine.

And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.

Under the color of commending him,

I have access my own love to prefer.

But Sylvia is too fair,

too true,

too holy.

To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

[sighs deeply]

When I protest true loyalty to her.

She twits me with my falsehood to my friend.

When to her beauty I commend my vows,

she bids me think how I have been forsworn

in breaking faith with Julia, whom I loved.

And not withstanding all her sudden quips.

The least whereof would quell a lover's hope.

Yet,

spaniel-like,

the more she spurns my love,

the more it grows and fawneth on her still.

There comes Thurio.

Now must we to her window

and give some evening music to her ear.

How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?

Aye, gentle Thurio, for you know that love,

will creep in service where it cannot go.

Aye, but I hope so, you love not here.

Sir I do or else I would be hence.

Who, Sylvia?

Aye, Sylvia, for your sake.

I thank you for your own.

Now gentlemen,

Let's tune and to it lustily awhile.

[classical instrumental music]

Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly.

I pray you, why is it?

Merry, one host,

because I cannot be merry.

Come, we'll have you merry.

I'll bring you where you shall hear music

and see the gentleman that you asked for.

But shall I hear him speak?

Aye, that you shall.

That will be music.

Hark,

-hark. -Is he among these?

Aye but peace,

let's hear 'em.

[classical instrumental music]

♪ Who is Sylvia ♪

♪ What is she ♪

♪ That all our swains commend her ♪

♪ Holy fair and wise is she ♪

♪ The heaven such grace did lend her ♪

♪ That she might ♪

♪ That she might ♪

♪ That she might ♪

♪ She might ♪

♪ Admired be ♪

♪ Is she kind ♪

♪ As she is fair ♪

♪ For beauty lives with kindness ♪

♪ Love doth to her eyes repair ♪

♪ To help him of his blindness ♪

♪ And being helped ♪

♪ And being helped ♪

♪ And being helped ♪

♪ Be helped ♪

♪ Inhabits there ♪

♪ Then to Sylvia ♪

♪ Let us sing ♪

♪ That Sylvia is excelling ♪

♪ She excels each mortal thing ♪

♪ Upon the dull earth dwelling ♪

♪ To her ♪

♪ To her ♪

♪ To her ♪

♪ To her ♪

♪ Let us garlands bring ♪

[smooth instrumental music]

How now?

Are you sadder than you were before?

How do you, man?

The music likes you not.

You mistake.

The musician likes me not.

Why, my pretty youth?

He plays false, father.

How, out of tune on the strings?

Not so

but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.

You have a quick ear.

Aye, I would I were deaf.

It makes me have a slow heart.

I perceive you delight not in music.

Not a whit when it jars so.

[intense instrumental music]

Hark, what fine change is in the music!

Aye, that change is the spite.

You would have them always play but one thing?

I would always have one play but one thing.

But host,

doth this Sir Proteus,

that we talk on, often resort unto this gentlewoman?

I tell you what Lance his man told me,

he loved her out of all nick.

Where is Lance?

Gone to seek his dog,

which tomorrow by his master's command.

He must carry for a present to his lady.

Peace stand aside.

The company parts.

Fear you not Thurio.

I shall so plead that you shall say my cunning drift excels.

Where meet we?

At Saint Gregory's well.

Farewell.

Madam,

good evening to your ladyship.

I thank you for your music, gentlemen.

[coins jingle]

Who is that that spake?

One, sweet lady,

if you knew his pure heart's truth.

You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.

Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Sir Proteus, gentle lady and your servant.

What's your will?

That I may compass yours.

You have your wish.

My will is even this.

That presently you hie you home to bed.

Thou subtle,

perjured,

false, disloyal man.

Think'st thou I am so shallow,

so conceitless,

to be seduced by thy flattery.

That hast deceived so many with thy vows.

Return,

return and make thy love amends.

For me,

by this pale queen of night I swear.

I am so far from granting thy request.

That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit

and by and by intend to chide myself.

Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady,

But she is dead.

'Twere false if I should speak it,

for I am sure she is not buried.

Say that she be,

yet Valentine thy friend survives.

To whom thyself art witness.

I am betrothed.

And art thou not ashamed

to wrong him with thy importunacy?

I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.

And so suppose am I,

for in his grave.

Assure thyself, my love is buried.

Sweet lady,

let me rake it from the Earth.

Go to thy lady's grave

and call hers thence.

Or, at the least, in hers sepulcher thine.

He heard not that.

Madam,

if your heart be so obdurate.

Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,

the picture that is hanging in your chamber.

To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep,

For since the substance of your perfect self

is else devoted, I am but a shadow.

And to your shadow will I make true love.

If 'twere a substance you would sure deceive it

and make it but a shadow, as I am.

I am very loath to be your idol, sir.

But since your falsehood shall become you well.

To worship shadows and adore false shapes,

send to me in the morning, and I'll send it.

And so, good rest.

As wretches have overnight.

That wait for execution in the morn.

[birds chirping]

Host, will you go?

By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

Marry, at my house.

Trust me, I think 'tis almost day.

Not so but it hath been the longest night

that e'er I watched

and the most heaviest.

[enchanting flute music]

This is the hour that Madam Sylvia,

entreated me to call and know her mind.

There's some great matter she'd employ me in.

[enchanting flute music]

Madam, madam.

Who calls?

Your servant and your friend,

one that attends your ladyship's command.

Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.

As many worthy lady, to yourself.

According to your ladyship's impose.

Am I thus early come to know what service.

It is your pleasure to command me in.

Oh Eglamour, thou art a gentleman.

Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not.

Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplished.

Thou art not ignorant what dear good will,

I bear unto the banished Valentine.

Nor how my father would enforce me marry,

Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorred.

Thyself hast loved, and I have heard thee say

no grief did ever come so near thy heart

as when thy lady and thy true love died.

Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.

Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine to Mantua.

Where I hear he makes abode.

And for the ways are dangerous to pass,

I do desire thy worthy company.

Upon whose faith and honor I repose.

Urge not my father's anger Eglamour.

But think upon my grief, a lady's grief

and on the justice of my flying hence,

to save from a most unholy match,

which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.

I do desire thee, even from a heart,

as full of sorrows as the sea of sands.

To bear me company and go with me.

If not, to hide what I have said to thee.

That I may venture to depart alone.

Madam,

I pity much your grievances.

Which since I know they virtuously are placed.

I give consent to go along with you,

wrecking as little what betideth me.

As much I wish all good befortune you.

When will you go?

This evening coming.

Where shall I meet you?

At Friar Patrick's cell,

where I intend holy confession.

I will not fail your ladyship.

Good morrow,

gentle lady.

Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.

[soft instrumental music]

When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,

look you, it goes hard.

One that I brought up of a puppy.

One that I saved from drowning when three or four

of his blind brothers and sisters went to it.

I have taught him even as one would say precisely,

thus I would teach a dog.

I was sent to deliver him as a present

to Mistress Sylvia from my master.

No sooner comes I into the dining chamber

but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg.

Oh, 'tis a foul thing when a cur

cannot keep himself in all companies!

I would have, as one should say,

one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed.

To be as it were, a dog in all things.

I had not had more wit than he,

to take a fault upon me that he did,

I think verily he had been hanged for 't.

Sure as I live, he had suffered for 't.

You shall judge.

He thrusts me himself, into the presence of three

or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table.

He had not been there bless the mark.

Pissing while but whole chamber smelt him.

-"Out with the dog!" -Says one.

-"What cur is that?" -Says another.

-"Whip him out!" -Says the third.

-"Hang him up!" -Says the Duke.

I, having been acquainted with the smell before knew,

it was Crab.

Goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs.

"Friend," quoth I, "You mean to whip the dog?"

"Aye, marry, do I," quoth he.

"You do him the more wrong," quoth I.

"'Twas I did the thing you wot of." [chuckles]

With that it makes me no more ado

but whips me out of the chamber.

How many masters would do that for his servant, nay?

I'll be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings,

he hath stolen.

Otherwise he had been hanged for it.

My I've have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed,

otherwise he had suffered for 't.

Thou think'st not of this.

Nay, I remember the trick you served me

when I took my leave of Madam Sylvia.

Did not I bid thee mark me.

Mark me

and do as I do?

When didst thou see me heave up my leg

and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale?

Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?

[bell rings]

Sebastian,

is thy name?

I like thee well

and will employ thee in some service presently.

In what you please.

I'll do what I can.

-I hope thou wilt. -[dog barks]

How now, you whoreson peasant?

Where have you been these two days loitering?

Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the dog you bade me.

What says she to my little jewel?

Marry, she says your dog was a cur

and tells you currish thanks,

is good enough for such a present.

But she received my dog?

No, indeed, did she not.

Look here have I brought him back again.

What, didst thou offer her this from me?

Aye, sir the he other squirrel was stolen from me

by the hangman's boys in the marketplace.

And then I offered her mine own,

who is a dog as big as 10 of yours

and therefore the gift the greater.

Go get thee hence and find my dog again

or ne'er return again into my sight!

Away, I say!

Stayest thou to vex me here!

[dog barks]

A slave that still an end turns me to shame.

Sebastian,

I have entertained thee.

Partly that I have need of such a youth.

That can with some discretion do my business.

But 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout.

But,

chiefly for thy face

and thy behavior,

which if my augury deceive me not.

Witness good bringing-up, fortune, truth.

Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.

Go presently, take this ring with thee.

Deliver it to Madam Sylvia.

She loved me well delivered it to me.

It seems you loved not her, to leave her token.

She is dead belike?

Not so, I think she lives.

Alas!

Why dost thou cry, "Alas"?

I cannot choose but pity her.

Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?

Because methinks that she loved you as well,

as you do love your lady Sylvia.

She dreams on him that has forgot her love.

You dote on her that cares not for your love.

'Tis pity love should be so contrary

and thinking on it makes me cry, "Alas."

Well, give her that ring and therewithal this letter.

That's her chamber.

Go tell my lady,

I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.

Your message done, hie home unto my chamber.

Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.

How many women would do such a message?

Alas, poor Proteus,

thou hast entertained a fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.

Alas, poor fool,

why do I pity him?

But with his very heart despiseth me.

Because he loves her,

he despiseth me.

Because I love him,

I must pity him.

This ring I gave him when he parted from me.

To bind him to remember my good will.

And now am I,

unhappy messenger.

To plead for that which I would not obtain.

To carry that which I would have refused.

To praise his faith, which I would have dispraised.

I am my master's true confirmed love.

But cannot be true servant to my master.

Unless I prove false traitor to myself.

Yet will I woo for him,

but yet so coldly.

As Heaven it knows.

I would not have him speed.

Gentlewoman, good day.

I pray you be my mean,

to bring me where to speak with Madam Sylvia.

What would you with her, if that I be she?

If you be she I,

do entreat your patience to hear me speak,

the message I am sent on.

From whom?

From my master, Sir Proteus,

madam.

Oh,

he sends you for a picture?

Aye, madam.

Ursula, bring my picture there.

Go, give your master this.

Tell him from me, one Julia

whom his changing thoughts forget,

would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Madam, please you peruse this letter.

Pardon me, madam,

I have unadvised delivered you a paper that I should not.

This is the letter to your ladyship.

I pray thee let me look on that again.

It may not be good madam, pardon me.

Hold there.

Hold.

I will not look upon your master's lines,

I know they are stuffed with protestations.

And full of new-found oaths, which he will break.

As easily as I do tear his paper.

Madam, he sends your ladyship,

this ring.

The more shame for him, that he sends it me.

For I have heard him say a thousand times,

his Julia gave it him at his departure.

Though his false finger have profaned the ring,

mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.

She thanks you.

What sayst thou?

I thank you, madam, that you tender her.

Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.

Dost thou know her?

Almost as well as I do know myself.

To think upon her woes, I do protest.

That I have wept a hundred several times.

Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her?

I think she doth and that's her cause of sorrow.

Is she not passing fair?

She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.

When she did think my master loved her well,

she, in my judgment, was as fair as you.

But since she did neglect her looking-glass

and threw her sun-expelling mask away,

the air hath starved the roses in her cheeks.

And pinched the lily tincture of her face,

that now she is become,

as black as I.

How tall is she?

About my stature, for at Pentecost,

when all our pageants of delight were played.

Our youth got me to play the woman's part.

And I was trimmed in Madam Julia's gown.

Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments.

As if the garment had been made for me.

[chuckles]

Therefore I know she is about my height.

And at that time I made her weep a good.

For I did play a lamentable part.

Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning

for Theseus' perjury and unjust flight.

Which I so lively acted with my tears.

That my poor mistress,

moved therewithal.

Wept bitterly.

-[cries deeply] -And would I might be dead,

if I in thought felt not her very sorrow.

She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.

Alas!

Poor lady.

Desolate and left!

I weep myself to think upon thy words.

Here.

Youth, there is my purse.

I give thee this,

for thy sweet mistress' sake.

Because thou lov'st her.

Farewell.

And she shall thank you for it if e'er you know her.

A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful.

I hope my master's suit will be but cold,

since she respects my mistress' love so much.

Alas!

How love can trifle with itself!

Here is her picture.

Let me see.

I think if I had such attire,

this face of mine were full as lovely as is this of hers.

And yet the painter flattered her a little.

Unless I flatter with myself too much.

Her hair is auburn,

mine is perfect yellow.

If that be all the difference in his love,

I'll get me such a colored periwig.

Aye, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.

What should it be that he respects in her?

But I can make respective in myself,

if this fond love were not a blinded god?

Come,

shadow,

come!

And take this shadow up.

For 'tis thy rival.

Oh, thou senseless form.

Thou shalt be worshiped, kissed, loved,

and adored.

And were there sense in his idolatry,

my substance should be statue in thy stead.

I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake.

That used me so.

Or else by Jove I vow.

I should have scratched out your unseeing eyes,

to make my master out of love with thee.

[orchestral music]

The sun begins to gild the western sky.

And now it is about the very hour,

that Sylvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me.

[chuckles]

She will not fail,

for lovers break not hours.

Unless it be to come before their time.

So much they spur their expedition.

[orchestral music]

See where she comes.

Lady, a happy evening.

Amen, amen.

Go on, good Eglamour.

Out at the postern by the abbey wall.

I fear I am attended by some spies.

Fear not the forest is not three leagues off,

if we recover that, we are sure enough.

[orchestral music]

Sir Proteus, what says Sylvia to my suit?

Sir, I find her milder than she was,

and yet she takes exceptions at your person.

What?

That my leg is too long?

No, that it is too little.

I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.

[chuckles]

Love will not be spurred to what it loathes.

What says she to my face?

That it is a fair one.

Nay, then the wanton lies.

My face is black.

But pearls are fair, and the old saying is,

"Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes."

'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes,

for I had rather wink than look on them.

How likes she my discourse?

Ill, when you talk of war.

But well when I discourse of love and peace.

But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.

And what says she to my valor?

Oh, sir, she makes no doubt of that.

She needs not when she knows it cowardice.

And what says she to my birth?

That you are well derived.

True, from a gentleman to a fool.

Considers she my possessions?

Oh, aye aye.

And pities them.

Wherefore?

That such an ass should owe them.

That they are out by lease.

Here comes the Duke!

How now, Sir Proteus?

How now, Thurio?

Which of you saw Eglamour of late?

-Not I. -Nor I.

Saw you my daughter?

Neither.

Then she's fled unto that peasant, Valentine

and Eglamour is in her company.

'Tis true, for Friar Lawrence met them both as he,

in penance, wandered through the forest.

Him he knew well and guessed that it was she.

But, being masked, he was not sure of it.

Besides, she did intend confession

at Patrick's cell this evening

and there she was not.

These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.

Therefore I pray you stand not to discourse,

but mount you presently.

And meet with me upon the rising of the mountain foot,

that leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.

Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.

Why, this it is to be a peevish girl,

that flies her fortune when it follows her.

I'll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour

than for the love of reckless Sylvia.

And I will follow, more for love of Sylvia,

than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.

And I will follow, more to cross that love

than hate for Sylvia, that is gone for love.

[bell rings]

[dramatic instrumental music]

[screams]

[dramatic instrumental music]

[screams]

[thieves cheering]

Come, come, be patient.

We must bring you to our captain.

A thousand more mischances than this one,

have learned me how to brook this patiently.

Come, bring her away.

Where is the gentleman that was with her?

[laughs loudly]

Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us.

[laughs loudly]

But Moyses and Valerius follow him.

Go thou with her to the west end of the wood.

There is our captain.

We'll follow him that's fled.

The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape.

Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave.

Fear not he bears an honorable mind.

And will not use a woman lawlessly.

Oh Valentine, this I endure for thee!

[slow instrumental music]

How use doth breed a habit in a man.

This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods.

I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.

[slow instrumental music]

Here can I sit alone, unseen of any.

And to the nightingale's complaining notes,

tune my distresses and record my woes.

Oh thou that dost inhabit in my breast.

Leave not the mansion so long tenantless.

Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall.

And leave no memory of what it was.

Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia.

Thou gentle nymph,

cherish thy forlorn swain.

[outlaws approach loudly]

Hallowing and what stir is this today?

These are my mates, that make their wills their law,

have some unhappy passenger in chase.

They love me well, yet I have much to do

to keep them from uncivil outrages.

Withdraw thee, Valentine.

Who's this comes here?

-[pants heavily] -Madam!

This service I have done for you!

Though you respect not aught your servant doth.

To hazard life and rescue you from him,

that would have forced your honor and your love.

[sighs loudly]

Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look.

A smaller boon than this I cannot beg

and less than this I am sure you cannot give.

How like a dream is this I see and hear.

Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.

Oh miserable, unhappy that I am!

Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came.

But by my coming, I have made you happy!

By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy.

And me, when he approacheth to your presence.

Had I been seized by a hungry lion,

I would have been a breakfast to the beast.

Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.

Oh heaven, be judge how I love Valentine.

Whose life's as tender to me as my soul.

And full as much, for more there cannot be,

I do detest false perjured Proteus!

Therefore begone solicit me no more!

What dangerous action, stood it next to death!

Would I not undergo for one calm look!

Oh 'tis the curse in love and still approved,

when women cannot love where they're beloved!

When Proteus cannot love where he's beloved!

Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love.

For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith,

into a thousand oaths.

And all those oaths descended into perjury to love me.

Thou hast no faith left now,

unless thou 'dst two,

and that's far worse than none!

Better have none than plural faith,

which is too much by one!

Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!

In love who respects friend!

All men but Proteus!

Nay!

If the gentle spirit of moving words,

can no way change you to a milder form.

I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end,

and love you against the nature of love!

-I'll force ye! -Oh heaven!

I'll force thee yield to my desire!

Ruffian!

Let go that rude uncivil touch,

thou friend of an ill fashion!

Valentine!

Thou, common friend,

that's without faith or love,

for such is a friend now.

Treacherous man,

thou hast beguiled my hopes, nought but mine eye.

Could have persuaded me.

Now I dare not say.

I have one friend alive.

Thou wouldst disprove me.

Who should be trusted,

when one's right hand is,

perjured to the bosom?

Proteus,

I am sorry, I must never trust thee more.

But count the world a stranger for thy sake.

The private wound is deepest.

Oh time most accursed.

Amongst all foes that a friend should be the worst.

My shame and guilt confounds me.

[sobs]

Forgive me, Valentine.

If hearty sorrow be a sufficient ransom for offense,

I do tender it here.

I do as truly suffer as e'er I did commit.

Then I am paid.

And once again I do receive thee honest.

Who by repentance is not satisfied.

Is nor of heaven nor Earth,

for these are pleased.

By penitence the erernal's wrath's appeased.

And that my love may appear plain and free.

All that was mine in Sylvia,

I give thee.

Oh me unhappy!

Look to the boy.

Why, boy!

Why wag,

now what's the matter?

Look up.

Speak.

Oh good sir,

my master charged me to deliver a ring to Madam Sylvia,

which out of my neglect was never done.

Where is that ring, boy?

Here 'tis.

-This is it. -How, let me see.

Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.

Oh cry you mercy sir, I mistook.

This is the ring you sent to Sylvia.

But how cam'st thou by this ring?

At my depart I gave this unto Julia.

And Julia herself did give it me.

And Julia herself hath brought it hither.

How?

Julia.

Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths

and entertained 'em deeply in her heart.

How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!

[sobs]

Oh Proteus,

let this habit make thee blush.

Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me

such an immodest raiment.

If shame live in a disguise of love.

It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,

women to change their shapes than men their minds.

Than men their minds?

'Tis true.

Were man constant, he were perfect.

That one error fills him with faults,

makes him run through all his sins.

Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.

What is in Sylvia's face,

that I may spy.

More fresh in Julia's,

with a constant eye.

Come, come, a hand from either.

Let me be blessed to make this happy close.

'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.

Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish forever.

And I mine.

[drums beating]

It is my lord the Duke!

Your Grace is welcome to a man disgraced!

Banished Valentine!

Sir Valentine?

Yonder is Sylvia, and Sylvia's mine!

Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death!

Come not within the measure of my wrath!

Do not name Sylvia thine!

If once again Verona shall not hold thee.

Here she stands.

Take but possession of her with a touch.

I dare thee but to breathe upon my love!

Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I.

I hold him but a fool that will endanger,

his body for a girl that loves him not.

I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.

[outlaws cheer]

The more degenerate and base art thou,

to make such means for her as thou hast done.

And leave her on such slight conditions.

Now, by the honor of my ancestry,

I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine.

And think thee worthy of an empress' love.

Know then I here forget all former griefs,

cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.

Plead a new state in thy unrivaled merit,

to which I thus subscribe.

Valentine!

Thou art a gentleman,

and well derived.

Take thou thy Sylvia, for thou hast deserved her.

[everyone cheers]

I thank your grace, the gift hath made me happy.

I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake.

To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.

I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be.

These banished men, that I have kept withal.

Are men endu'd with worthy qualities.

Forgive them what they have committed here.

And let them be recalled from their exile.

They are reformed, civil, full of good

and fit for great employment, worthy lord.

Thou hast prevailed, I pardon them and thee.

Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts.

Come, let us go, we will include all jars

with triumphs, mirth

and rare solemnity.

[everyone cheers happily]

[enchanting instrumental music]

As we walk along,

I dare be bold with our discourse

to make your grace to smile.

What think you of this page, my lord?

I think the boy hath grace in him, he blushes.

-[laughs] -I warrant you, my lord,

more grace than boy [chuckles].

What mean you by that saying?

Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along.

That you will wonder what hath fortuned.

Come, Proteus,

'tis your penance but to hear,

the story of your loves discovered.

That done, our day of marriage shall be yours.

One feast, one house,

one mutual happiness.

[laughs]

[enchanting instrumental music]

[applauds]

[enchanting instrumental music]

[singing in foreign language]