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Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
Duke. Protheus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd 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;
be nos aimed at ;] Be not guefed. JOHNSON,
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
[Exit Pro. Enter Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them.
Duke. Be they of much import ?
Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay then, no matter ; stay with me a while; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near ; wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have fought To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevith, fullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking 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 Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in.
?of this pretence.] Of this claim made to your daughter.
JOHNSON. K 2
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower,
Vol. Win her with gifts, if she respects not words;
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. val. A woman scorns sometimes what best contents : her: Send her another; never give her o'er; For ícorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you : If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone : For why, the fools are mad if left alone. 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. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
3- Sir, in Milan, here,] It ought to be thus, instead of in Verona, here--for the scene apparently is in Milan, as is clear from several paisages in the firit act, and in the beginning of the first scene of the fourth act. A like mistake has crept into the eighth scene of act II. where Speed bids his fellowfervant Launce welcome to Padua. Pope.
4 ---the fashion of the time ] The modes of courtship, the acts by which men recommended themselves to ladies.
Duke. Duke. But she I mean, is promis’d 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.
Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock’d, and keys kept
fafe, That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window ?
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.
Val. Why then a ladder quaintly made of cords, To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it.
Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Val. When would you use it? pray, Sir, tell me
that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven a clock I'll get you such a ladder.
Duke. But hark thee: I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear
it Under a cloak that is of any length.
Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke. Then let me see thy cloak; I'll get me one of such another length. Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.--What letter is this fame? what's here?-To Silvia ? And here an engine fit for my proceeding? I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Duke reads.
My thoughts do harbour with my Sylvia nightly,
And saves 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 bojom reft them,
While I, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace, that with such grace hath bless'd them,
Because myself do want my fervant's fortune; I curse myself, 5 for they are sent by me, That they mould barbour where their lord would be. What's here? Sylvia, this might will I enfranchise thee: 'Tis so, and here's the ladder for the purpose, Why, Phaëron (for thou art 6 Merops' fon) Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy during folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars, because they fine on thee? Go, base intruder! over-weening Dave! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; And think, my parience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence: Thank ine for this, more than for all the favours, Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee, But if thou linger in my territories, Longer than swifteit 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: . Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lov'it thy life, make speed from hence.
Exit. Val. And why not death, rather than living tor
But if it too much one than fors
5--for they are sent by me,] For is the same as for that, fince. JOHNSON.
6 --- diirops' fca) ] Thou art Phaëton in thy ralliness, but without his pretensions ; thou art not the son of a divinity, but a terræ filines, a low born wretch; Merops is thy true father, with whom Phaëton was falsely reproached. JOHNSON,