Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

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

Laun. So-ho! fo-ho!

Pro. What feeft thou?

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? mafter, fhall I strike?
Pro. Whom would'st thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, fir, I'll ftrike nothing: I pray you,

Pro. Sirrah, I fay, forbear: Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath poffefs'd them.

Pro. Then in dumb filence will I bury mine,

For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for facred Silvia !— Hath the forfworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forfworn me!

What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excefs of it will make me furfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and the hath offer'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,)
A fea of melting pearl, which fome call tears :
Those at her father's churlish feet the tender'd;
With them, upon her knees, her humble felf;
Wringing her hands, whofe whitenefs fo became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe:

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad fighs, deep groans, nor filver-fhedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate fire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, muft die.
Befides, her interceffion chaf'd him so,
When the for thy repeal was fuppliant,
That to close prifon he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Val. No more; unless the next word, that thou speak'st, Have fome malignant power upon my life:

If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,

As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro. Ceafe 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 can'st not see thy love;
Befides, thy ftaying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's ftaff; walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
Which, being writ to me, fhall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bofom of thy love.
The time now ferves not to expostulate :
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate;

And, ere I part with thee, confer at large

Of all that may concern thy love-affairs :
As thou lov't Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. Pro. Go, firrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!

[Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think, my mafter is a kind of a knave: but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now, that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid: yet 'tis not a maid, for the hath had goffips: yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel,-which is much in a bare chriftian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horfe can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore, is the better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a fweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter SPEED.

Speed. How now, fignior Launce? what news with your mastership?

Laun. With my mafter's fhip? why, it is at fea.

Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; mistake the word: What news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackeft news that ever thou heard'st.

Speed.

Speed. Why, man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as ink.

Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou can'ft not read.
Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee: Tell me this: Who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the fon of my grandfather.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read.

Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper.
Laun. There; and faint Nicholas be thy fpeed!
Speed. Imprimis, She can milk.

Laun. Ay, that the can.

Speed. Item, She brews good ale.

Laun. And therefore comes the proverb,-Bleffing o'

your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, She can few.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, Can she so?

Speed. Item, She can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock.

Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.

Laun. A fpecial virtue; for then the need not be washed and scoured.

Speed. Item, She can spin.

Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, She bath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, baftard virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have nɔ

names.

Speed. Here follow her vices.

Laun. Clofe at the heels of her virtues.

Speed.

Speed. Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath.

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfaft: Read on.

Speed. Item, She hath a fweet mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her four breath.

Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep.

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

Speed. Item, She is flow in words.

Laun. O villain, that fet this down among her vices! To be flow in words, is a woman's only virtue: I pray thee, out with't; and place it for her chief virtue.

Speed. Item, She is proud.

Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.

Speed. Item, She hath no teeth.

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crufts. Speed. Item, She is curft.

Laun. Well; the best is, the hath no teeth to bite.

Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor.

Laun. If her liquor be good, the fhall: if she will not, I will; for good things fhould be praised.

Speed. Item, She is too liberal.

:

Laun. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ down fhe is flow of of her purse she shall not; for that I'll keep fhut now of another thing the may; and that I cannot help. Well, proceed.

:

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article: Rehearse that once more.

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit,

Laun.