3rd Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consórt?

Say, ay, 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. 1st Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.

2nd Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offered.

Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers.

3rd Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us, we 'll bring thee to our crews, And shew thee all the treasures we have got; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
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, notwithstanding 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.
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her win-
dow,

And give some evening music to her ear.

Enter THURIO and Musicians.

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

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. Thu. Whom? Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia,-for your sake.

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

Enter Host, at a distance; and JULIA, in boy's clothes.

Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it?

Who is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she,

The heavens such grace did lend her, That 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, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

Host. How now? are you sadder than you were

before?

How do you, man? the music likes you not. Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not. Host. Why, my pretty youth?

Jul. He plays false, father.

Host. How? out of tune on the strings? Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.

Host. You have a quick ear.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart.

Host. I perceive you delight not in music.
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music!
Jul. Ay; that change is the spite.

Host. You would have them always play but one thing?

Jul. I would always have one play but one

thing.

But, host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me; he loved her out of all nick.

Jul. Where is Launce?

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

Jul. Peace! stand aside! the company parts. Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you! I will so plead, That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. Thu. Where meet we?

Pro. At Saint Gregory's well.

Thu. Farewell.

[Exeunt THURIO and Musicians.

SILVIA appears above, at her window. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen: Who is that, that spake?

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure truth,

heart's

You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. Sil. What is your will?

Pro. That I may compass yours.

Sil. 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.
Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
But she is dead.

Jul. "T were false, if I should speak it;
For I am sure she is not buried.

[Aside.

Sil. 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 importúnacy?

Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. Sil. And so suppose am I; for in his grave Assure thyself my love is buried.

[Aside.

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. Jul. He heard not that. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdúrate, 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 I will make true love. Jul. If 't were a substance, you would sure deceive it,

[Aside.

And make it but a shadow, as I am.
Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir;

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
According to your ladyship's impose,

I am thus early come, to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.

Sil. O, 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 vowedst 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 honour 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 keep me from a most unholy match,
Which heaven and fortune still reward with

plagues.

SCENE IV. The same.

Enter LAUNCE, with his Dog.

Laun. 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 Silvia, from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her

capon's leg. O, 't is 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 at all things. If 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 company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under the Duke's table: he had not been there (bless the mark!) a pissing while, but all the 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; and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: "Friend," quoth I, “you mean to whip the dog?” "Ay, marry do I," quoth he. "You do him the more wrong," quoth I; "'t was I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for their servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed: I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for 't: thou think'st not of this now!--Nay, I remember the trick you served me, when I took my leave of Madam Silvia; did not I bid thee still 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?

Enter PROTEUS and JULIA.

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. Jul. In what you please;—I will do what I can. Pro. I hope thou wilt.-How now, you whoreson peasant? [TO LAUNCE. Where have you been these two days loitering? Laun. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

Pro. But she received my dog?

Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have I brought him back again.

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Laun. Ay, sir; the 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 ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,
Or ne'er return again into my sight.
Away, I say! Stay'st thou to vex me here?
A slave, that still an end turns me to shame.
[Exit LAUNCE.

Sebastian, I have entertainéd thee,
Partly that I have need of such a youth,
That can with some discretion do my business,
For 't is no trusting to yon foolish lout;

But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour;

Which (if my augury deceive me not)

Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth: Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.

Go presently, and take this ring with thee,
Deliver it to Madam Silvia:

She loved me well delivered it to me.

Jul. It seems you loved her not, to leave her token; She's dead, belike.

Pro. Not so; I think she lives.
Jul. Alas!

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas?

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? Jul. Because methinks that she loved you as well As you do love your lady Silvia : 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!

Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal This letter;-that's her chamber.-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.

[Exit PROTEUS.

Jul. 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
That 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;
Το
carry that which I would have refused;
To praise his faith, which I would have dispraised.
I am my master's true confirméd love;
But cannot be true servant to my master,
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet I will woo for him; but yet so coldly,
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.

Enter SILVIA, attended.

Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.
Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she?
Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
Sil. From whom?

Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.
Sil. O!—he sends you for a picture?
Jul. Ay, madam.

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there.

[Picture brought.

Go, give your master this: tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

SCENE IV.-The same.

Enter LAUNCE, with his Dog.

Laun. 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 Silvia, from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her

capon's leg. O, 't is 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 at all things. If 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 company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under the Duke's table he had not been there (bless the mark!) a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. "Out with the dog," says one; "What cur is