What letter is this fame ? what's here? To Silvia Himself would todge, where fenfelefs they are lying: While I, their King, that thither them importune, Do curfe the grace, that with fuch grace bath bleft them, Because myself do want my fervant's fortune; I curfe myself, for they are fent by me, That they should harbour, where their lord would be. What's here? Silvia, this night will I enfranchise ther "Tis fo, and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaeton, for thou art Merops fon, Wilt thou afpire to guide the heavenly car, Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Longer than fwifteft expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heav'n, my wrath fhall far exceed the love, 1 ever bore my daughter or thy felf: Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excufe, But as thou lov'ft thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no day for me to look upon ajabu nd join " Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive, less Enter Protheus and Launce. Pro Run, boy, run, run, and feck him out. Laun. So-ho! fo-ho! Pro. What feeft thou? Laun. Him we go to find: There's not an hair on's head, but is a Valentine. Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing fpeak? mafter, fhall I ftrike ? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing; I pray you, Pro. Ifay, forbear: friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news; So much of bad already hath poffeft 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 sacred Silvia ! Hath the forfworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Şilvia have forfworn me! What is your news? Laun Lawn. Sir, there's, a proclamation that you are yanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd; oh, that is the news,> From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already; And now excels of it will make me furfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? Pro. Ay, ay and the hath offer'd to the doom, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Val. No more; unless the next word, that thou speak'st, Have fome malignant power upon my life: If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, Pro. Ceafe to lament for that thou canst not help, As thou lov't Silvia, tho” not for thyself, Val. I pray thee, Launce, an' if thou feest my boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the north-gate Pro. Go, Sirrah, find him out: come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia, hapless Valentine ! [Exeunt Valentine and Protheus. 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 horfe fhall 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 the is her mafter's maid, and ferves for wages: he hath more qualities than a water fpaniel, which is much in a bare chri ftian. Here is the cat-log (Pulling out a paper of her conditions; Imprimis, he can fetch and carry; why, a horfe can do no more; nay, a horfe cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore the is better than a jade. Item, fhe can milk; look you, a sweet 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. (11) Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; miftake the word: what news then in your paper? (11) With my Maftership? why, its at Sea.] Thefe Poetical Editors are pleafant Gentlemen' to let this pafs without any Sufpicion. For how does Launce miftake the Word? Speed afks him about his Mafterfhip, and he replies to it litteratim. But then how was his Maftership at Sea, and on Shore too? The Addition of a Letter and a Note of Apoftrophe make Launce both mistake the Word, and fets the Pun right: It reffores, indeed, but a mean. Joke; but, without it, there is no Senfe in the Paffage. Befides, it is in Character with the rest of the Scene; and, I dare be confident, the Poet's own Conceit. Laun. Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st, Speed. Let me read them La Fie on thee, jolt head, thou can't not read. Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee? Speed. Marry, the fon of my grand father.c Laun. O illiterate loiterer, it was the fon of thy grand-mother; this proves, that thou can'st not read. Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper. Laun. There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed! • Speed. Imprimis, she can milk... Laun. Ay, that the can. Speed. Item, the brews good ale. Laun. And therefore comes the proverb, Bleffing of your bears, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, the can fowe Laan. That's as much as to fay, Can be fo? Speed. Item, the can knit. Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when the can knit him a ftock! Speed. Item, the can wash and scour. Laun. A fpecial virtue, for then the need not to be wafh'd and fcour'd. Speed. Item, She can fpin. Laun. Then may I fet the world on wheels, when the can fpin for her living. Speed. Item, the hath many nameless virtues. Laun. That's as much as to fay, Baftard Virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have ino namės. Speed. Here follow her vices. Laun. Clofe at the heels of her virtues. Speed. Item, the is not to be kist falling, in respect of her breath. I Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakFaft: read on. Speed. Item, the hath a fweet mouth. Laun. That makes amends for her four breath. Speed. |