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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
0
EXTENT OF THE IMPRESSION.
We hereby certify that, the impression of the present edition of Shakespeare has been strictly limited to One Hundred and Fifty copies, and that we are also under an engagement to furnish the Editor with an exact account of the number of the waste sheets.
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i
THE WORKS
OP
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
THE TEXT FORMED FROM TO ■WHICH ABE ADDED ALL
THE ORIGINAL NOVELS AND TALES ON WHICH THE PLAYS ARE FOUNDED; COPIOUS ARCH^OLOGICAL ANNOTATIONS ON EACH PLAY; AN ESSAY ON THE FORMATION OF THE TEXT; AND A LIFE OF THE POET:
BY
JAMES 0. HALLIWELL, ESQ., F.R.S.
BONOBAKY MEMBEK OF THE EOYAL IRISH ACADEMY; THE KOYAL SOCTETY OP LITEEATUBE ; THE NEWCASTLE ANTIQUABIAN SOCIETY; THE ASHMOLEAN SOCIETY, AND THE SOCIETY FOB THE STUDY OF GOTHIC AECHITKCTUKE ; EELLOW OF THE SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES ; AND CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE ANTItJUARIAN SOCIETIES OF SCOTLAND, POICTIERS, PICARDIE, AND CAEN (ACADEMIE DES SCIENCES), AND OF THE COMITE DES ARTS ET MONUMENTS.
VOLUME 11.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. LOCAL ILLUSTRATIONS— WINDSOR AND BRENTFORD.
THE ILLUSTRATIONS AND WOOD-ENGRAVINGS BY
FREDERIGK iwiLIilAM -FAjiliHOLT, ESQ., F.S.A.
AUTHOR qp. ! COSTSUME ?.N, ENGLAND,' ETC.
LONDON :
PRINTED rOR THE EDITOR, BY C. AND J. ADLARD, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
1854.
HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF PRUSSIA.
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH AND QUEENSBURY, K.G.
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.
THE RIGHT HO.V. THE EARL OF BURLINGTON.
THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF WARWICK.
THE RIGHT HON. LORD FARNHAM, K.P.
THE RIGHT HON. LORD LOXDESBOROUGH, K.C.H., F.R.S.
HIS E.XCELLENCY M. SILVAIN VAN DE WEYER.
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DISTRIBUTION OF
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fist 0f |l!ites.
1. View of Datcliet Mead and Windsor Park in the seventeenth century, exhibiting the site of Palstaff's adventure of the Buck-basket, from the original drawing in the Sutherland Collection . . frontispiece
2. Facsimile of the first page of the Two Gentlemen of Verona, from the folio edition of 1623 . . . . . .28
3. Facsimile of an early English A. B. C.-Book, dated a. d. 1575, from the original black-letter broadside in the possession of the Editor, tlie first portion ... ... 78
4. The second part of the same .... ib.
5. The Music of My Lady Carey's Dump, from the original manuscript of the time of Henry VIII., preserved in the Old Boyal Library in the British Museum . . . . . .127
6. Passages from the Two Gentlemen of Verona, and the Merry Wives of Windsor, as they occur in a manuscript of the seventeenth century, many of which exhibit examples of the unauthorized alterations of the text which were common at that period . . . . .177
7. Facsimiles of the title-pages of the early quarto Editions of the Merry Wives of AVindsor . . . . . .210
8. A Plan of Windsor and the Little Park, as they existed in the year 1607, from the original by John Norden .... 255
9. Facsimile of the black-letter Ballad of ' Live with me, and be my Love,' from the original printed in the seventeenth century . .375
10. The black-letter Ballad of ' Fortune my Foe,' the song alluded to in the Merry Wives of Windsor, from a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection ...... 390
^Ijc ®tao (itntlcmcn of 0troiui
'J
EARLY EDITIONS.
(1) . In the folio edition of 1623 ; in the division of Comedies, pp. 20 to 38, sigs. B 4;°--©.
(2) . In the foho edition of 1632. The pagination and signatures are the same as in the above.
(3) . In the foho edition of 1664. The pagination and signatures are the same as in the above.
(4) . In the foho of 1685; in the division of Comedies, pp. 18 — 34, sigs. B 3v"— C 5.
INTRODUCTION.
The popular literature of England, at the conclusion of the sixteenth century, included many reliques of medieval romance; and there can be but little doubt that Shakespeare, in his earlier days, had become acquainted with most of the more favorite stories of ancient date, then rendered familiar to the populace by oral tradition, and by that extensive series of publications generally known as chap-books, so few of which belonging to that period now remain. Our acquaintance at the present day with the baser literature of the Elizabethan era is so exceedingly circumscribed, we can derive but a very faint impression of the vastness of the stores whence the poets and dramatists of the day obtained many of their materials. There is an incident at the conclusion of the play now under consideration, the sug- gestion of which, amongst others, may fairly be ascribed to the efforts of a mind strongly imbued with early romantic lore — the incident, I mean, of Valentine's unnatural generosity, where, in the excess of his rapture for the repentance of Proteus, he gives up to him all his right in Silvia. More extravagant instances of a similar description occur in the old English metrical romance of Amis and Amiloun ; and, in fact, Shakespeare has only adopted a very subdued type of a friendship story. That he should have availed himself of any narrative of the kind indi- cates certainly the period of composition to have been early in the poet's career, but, beyond this, there seems to be clearly no necessity for adopting any refined explanation of the scene, which is inconsistent with its obvious import.
All this is necessarily to be accepted on the supposition that the incident referred to is not to be found in some earlier novel or play, in itself the origin of the Two Gentlemen of Verona. It is evidently by no means impossible that this is the case. Tieck mentions an old German play, printed soon after the
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THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
[iNTHOD.
death of Shakespeare [Englandische Comedlen mid TiUKjedien, 1()20), a tragedy entitled 'Jidio und IlypoUta,' which, according to liini, is ahnost identical with this drama, except that, in the CJernian piece, at the wedding, the deceived friend stahs the false one, who has certainly carried on his intrigue very clumsily — the hride murders herself, and her lover follows her example. The clown of the play is called Grohianus Pickclhering, and, according to Tieck, the piece is only very roughly and briefly given, nmch of it appearing to be omitted. It is deeply to be regretted that this German play should at present be inaccessible, Tieck not having included it in his collection, and the most careful search for a copy of the original w ork having hitherto proved unsuccessful.
The following observations by Karl Simrock will form an a})propriate introduction to any further remarks of our own on the source of the plot. "The novel of Bandello, which Shakespeare followed in Twelfth Night, furnished the Spanish writer, IMontemayor, with the materials for an episode in his Diana, which again has been used by Shakespeare, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona ; thus Bandello's story may be considered as the foundation of the two plays of Shakespeare. Bandello's tales w^ere extant in 1554. Montemayor's 'Diana,' therefore, which was printed in 1560 in seven books [and frequently republished], may have been indebted to the Italian novelist. That this is the case, and how it has happened, the reader will see by comparing the tale of Felismena with the story of Bandello. It seems to have been the first intention of Montemayor to follow his original more closely than he eventually did ; at least, the introduction of the story of Felismena shows us that her twin brother, whose name is not mentioned, was to have answered the unfortunate passion of Celia for Felismena, disguised under the name of Valerio ; as Paolo, in Bandello, indemnifies Catella. It is true that Montemayor lets Celia die of despair at the coldness of the page, but probably he had here another novel of Bandello's in his mind, and meant that she shordd Hc^yeiteLred, as Fenicie is, and then be married to Felismena's twin brother. Montemayor does not, indeed, mention the likeness of the twins, but probably he had reasons for not indicating this too soon ; besides, in twins such a likeness is tacitly supposed. ^lontemayor's 'Diana' was con- tinued, first by Alonso Perez, a physician of Salamanca (1564), and then by Gil Polo (1574), to which latter Cervantes allows
INTEOD.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEr.ONA.
even higher praise tlian to Monternayor himself. Neither of these continiiators, however, has taken up the intention of ^lontemayor. Ceha dies in reahty, and Fehsniena's hrother does not fnlfil the purpose for which Montemayor appears to haA^e introduced hini. If the untimely death of jNIontcmayor has withheld from his readers an important portion of the invention of Bandello, Shakespeare went still I'urther in this play ; for though he gives from Montemayor's episode the history of Felismena (Julia), from the letter of Don Felis (Proteus) and her quarrel with the chamhermaid, to the infidelity of Felis (whom Felismena serves disguised as a page, and courts another woman for her lover and master); yet he suppresses still more of the relation of Bandello, since Silvia (Celia, Catella), whose heart is already occupied by Valentine, does not fall in love with the page. But it is precisely the portion of the story here suppressed which makes the main incident of the later play of Twelfth Night ; whilst in this latter the first part of Ban- dello's tale is wanting, inasnmch as we learn nothing of the earlier love of the Duke for Viola. In reply to the censure, in itself unjust, which English critics bestow on Shakespeare for this omission, it should be remembered that it was necessary to avoid a repetition of the same incident. In the Two Gentlemen of Verona, Shakespeare has contrived very artfully to connect the episode of Montemayor with an action perfectly distinct from it ; Proteus, while he is faithless to his beloved, also practising treason against his friend. The relation of the two friends to one another and to Silvia ; the fickleness of Proteus (indicated in his very name), who is false to Valentine for the sake of an unreturned passion, in contrast with the noble fidelity of the latter, who is willing to sacrifice his tenderly-returned love to the friend whose falsehood he has detected, form the main incident of this play, to which the love of Julia to Proteus serves only as an episodical by -play. The source whence Shakespeare borrowed his principal incident was probably one of the numerous modifications of the friendship-story, which, in its German form, has always for its subject the collision of love with friendship. Which of these was present to his imagination we cannot decide, since the source of this part of his play is not yet discovered. Tieck (German Theatre^ i., 27,) suspects it, without any very weighty grounds, in an older English play, of which an imitation, he says, has been preserved in an old German tragedy, 'Julio und Hypolita.' It is quite possible that
6
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA.
[iNTROD.
Sliakespcarc may here have followed no distinet model, and may only haye drawn upon his <>;eneral knowledge of the poems and popular hooks helonging to this eyele of ideas, hut still more upon his own imagination; the heginning of the play, however, where A alentine insists upon going to the court of the Emperor (it is true that he is afterwards always called the Dahe of Milan), and there falls in love Avith the daughter of his lord, reminds lis very distinctly of Amicus and Amelius, one of the most celehrated friendship-stories, which perhaps was the foundation of the tale made use of hy Shakespeare. The part of the false llarderich, in whose place Thurio stands at first, is here carried out hy Proteus, in whom, from this time, love triumphs over friendship ; whilst Valentine ceases not to hear himself as a pattern for true friends. Tieck, in his second part of the poet's life [Novellen Kranz for 1831), directed his attention especially to this play, when he makes the poet experience, with his friend Lord Southampton, something of the same painful nature which happens to Valentine with Proteus. It is very possible that Shakespeare may have represented some of his own trials in the Two Gentlemen of Verona ; but the composition of this play falls into an earlier period than the incident with the Earl." It has been observed by Dunlop that a mistress serving her lover in the capacity of a page, and employed by him to propitiate an obdurate fair one, is a common love adventure with the old novelists ; and he mentions a tale, founded on this incident, in the Ecatommithi of Cinthio.
The 'Diana' of IMontemayor was one of the books which had the rare merit of escaping the flames that consumed the greater portion of the library of Don Quixote. "I am of opinion we ought not to burn it, but only take out that part of it which treats of the magician Felicia and the enchanted water, as also all the longer poems, and let the work escape with its prose, and the honour of being the flrst in that kind." The 'Diana' desers ed the praise of Cervantes, and it appears to have been extremely popular in England during the later years of the sixteenth century. It was translated by Bartholomew Yong in and before 1583, by Thomas Wilson in 1596, and parts of it w ere rendered into English by Edward Paston and the celebrated Sir Philip Sidney ; but Yong's version was the only one published, and that did not appear till 1598, the year in which we first hear of the Two Gentlemen of Verona in the pages of Meres. It was published in a folio volume, entitled,
iNTEOD.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
7
'Diana of George of Montemayor, translated out of Spanish into English by Bartholomew Yong of the Middle Temple gentleman ; at London, Printed by Edm. Bollifant, inipensis G.B., 1598.' Yong, in his preface, observes that the translation had been completed in manuscript upwards of sixteen years.
The fact of the popularity of the ' Diana ' in England at this period is of considerable importance, for, although it would seem that Shakespeare could not have read the printed trans- lation by Yong before he composed the play, there are similarities between a story contained in the work of Monte- mayor, and the drama, too minute to be accidental. According to one critic, the incident common to the two is only such as might be found in other romances, and he limits the resemblance to the assumption of male attire by the lady. But the most striking similitude is contained in the account of the circum- stance of bringing the letter, and the waywardness of Julia ; and I subjoin an extract from the ' Diana,' containing the principal portion of the autobiography of Felismena, which will exhibit even several of Shakespeare's own expressions, and prove that such an opinion is quite untenable :
You shall therefore knowe (faire nymphes) tliat great Vandalia is my native countrie, a province not far hence, where I was borne, in a citie called Soldina ; my mother called Delia, my father Andronius, for linage and possessions the chiefest of aU that province. It fell out that as my mother was married many yeeres and had no children, by reason whereof she lived so sad and malecontent that she enjoyed not one merry day, with teares and sighes she daily importuned the heavens, and, with a thousand vowes and devout offerings, besought God to grant her the summe of her desire : whose omnipotencie it pleased, beholding from his imperiall throne her continuall orisons, to make her barren bodie (the greater part of her age being now spent and gone) to become fruitful. What infinite joy she conceived thereof, let her judge, that after a long desire of any thing, fortune at last doth put it into her handes. Of which content my father Andronius being no lesse partaker, shewed such tokens of inward joy as are impossible to be expressed. My mother Delia was so much given to reading of ancient histories, that if, by reason of sicknes or any important businesse, she had not bene hindred, she would never (by her will) have passed the time away in any other delight ; who (as I said) being now with childe, and finding herselfe on a night iU at ease, intreated my father to reade something unto her, that, her minde being occupied in contemplation thereof, she might the better passe her greefe away. My fatlier, who studied for nothing els but to please her in all he might, began to reade unto her the historic of Paris, when the three Ladies referred their proude contention for the golden apple to his conclusion and judgement. But as my mother held it for an infallible opinion that Paris had partially given that sentence, perswaded thereunto by a blinde passion of beautie, so she said, that without all doubt he did not with due reason and wisedome con- sider the goddesse of battels ; for, as martiall and heroicall feates (saide she)
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THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
[iNTllOD.
excelled all other qualities, so with e([iiitie and justice the ap])lc should have bene •iiveii to lier. ]\Iy lather answered, tliat since the a})ple was to be ii,iven to the fairest, and that A'enus was fairer then any of the rest, Paris had riglitly g-iven his judgement, if that harme had not ensued thereof, which afterwardes did. To this niy mother replied, that, though it was written in the apple. Thai il should he (/ire// iu Ihe fairest, it was not to be understood of corporall beautie, but of the intellectuall beautie of the mind. And tlicrfore since fortitude was a thing that made one most beautiful, and the exercise of arms an exterior act of this vertue, she alliruied, that to the goddesse of battels this apple should be given, if Paris had judged like a prudent and unappassionate judge. So that (faire nymplies) they si)ent a great part of the night in this controversie, both of them alledging tlie most reasons they could to confirme their owne purpose. They persisting in this point, sleepe began to overcome her, whom the reasons and arguments of her husband coidde not once moove ; so that being very deepe in her disputations, she fell into as deepe a sleepe, to whom, my father being now gone to his cliamber, a})peered the goddesse Venus, with as frowning a countenance as faire, and saide, I marvell, Delia, who hath mooved thee to be so contrarie to her, that was never o])posite to thee ? If thou hadst but called to minde the time when thou wert so overcome in love for Andronius, thou wouldest not have paide me the debt thou owest me with so ill coine. But thou shalt not escape free from my due anger ; for thou shalt bring forth a sonne and a daughter, whose birth shall cost thee no lesse then thy life, and them their contentment, for uttering so much in disgrace of my honour and beautie : both which shall be as infortunate in their love as any were ever in all their lives, or to the age wherein, with remedylesse sighes, they shall breath forth the summe of their ceaselesse sorrowes. And having saide thus, she vanished away : when, likewise, it seemed to my mother that the Goddesse Pallas came to her in a vision, and with a merry countenance saide thus unto her : With what sufficient rewardes may I be able to requite the due regarde (most liappie and discreete Delia) which thou hast alleaged in my favour against thy husbands obstinate opinion, except it be by making thee understand that thou shalt bring foortli a sonne and a daughter, the most fortunate in armes that have bene to their times. Having thus said, she vanished out of her sight, and my mother, thorow exceeding feare, awaked immediately. Who, within a moneth after, at one birth was delivered of me, and of a brother of mine, and died in childebed, leaving my father the most sorrowfull man in the world for her sudden death ; for greefe whereof, within a little while after, he also died. And bicause you may knowe (faire nymphes) in what great extremities love hath put me, you must understand, that (being a woman of that qualitie and disposition as you have heard) I have bene forced by my cruell destinie to leave my naturall habit and libertie, and the due respect of mine honour, to follow him, who thinkes (perhaps) that I doe but leese it by loving him so extremely. Behold, how bootelesse and unseemely it is for a woman to be so dextrous in armes, as if it were her proper nature and kinde, wherewith (faire nymphes) I had never bene indued, but that, by meanes thereof, I should come to doe you this little service against these villain es ; which I account no lesse then if fortune had begun to satisfie in part some of those infinite wrongs that she hath continually done me. The nymphes were so amazed at her words, that they coulde neither aske nor answere any thing to that the faire Shepherdesse tolde them, who, prosecuting her historie, saide :
My brother and I were brought up in a nunnerie, where an aunt of ours was abbesse, untill we had accomplished twelve yeeres of age, at what time we were taken from thence againe, and my brother was caried to the mightie and invin- cible king of Portugal! his court (whose noble fame and princely liberalitie was
INTROD.J
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
9
bruted over all the world) where, being growen to yeeres able to manage amies, he atchieved as valiant and almost incredible enterprises by them, as he suffered unfortunate disgraces and foiles by love. And witli aU this he was so highly favoured of that magnificent king, that he would never suffer him to depart from his com-t. Unfortunate I, reserved by my sinister destinies to greater mishaps, was caried to a grandmother of mine, which place I would I had never scene, since it was an occasion of such a sorrowfull life as never any woman suffered the like. And bicause there is not any thing (faire nymphes) which I am not forced to tell you, as well for the great vertue and desertes which your excellent beauties doe testifie, as also for that my minde doth give me, tliat you shall be no small part and meanes of my comfort, knowe, that as I was in my grandmothers house, and almost seventeene yeeres olde, a certaine yoong gentleman fell in love with me, who dwelt no further from our house then the length of a garden terrasse, so that he might see me every sommers night when I walked in the garden. When as therefore ingratefull Eelix had beheld in that place the unfortunate Eelismena (for this is the name of the wofuU woman that tels you her mishaps) he was extremely enamoured of me, or else did cunningly dissemble it, I not knowing then whether of these two I might beleeve, but am now assured, that whosoever beleeves lest, or nothing at all, in these affaires, shall be most at ease. Many dales Don Eelix spent in endevouring to make me know the paines which he suffered for me, and many more did I spende in making the matter strange, and that he did not suffer them for my sake : and I know not why love delaied the time so long by forcing me to love him, but onely that (when he came indeed) he might enter into my hart at once, and with greater force and violence. When he had, therefore, by sundrie signes, as by tylt and tourneyes, and by prauncing up and downe upon his proude jennet before my windowes, made it manifest that he was in love with me (for at the first I did not so well perceive it) he determined in the end to write a letter unto me ; and having practised divers times before with a maide of mine, and at length, with many gifts and faire promises, gotten her good wiU and furtherance, he gave her the letter to deliver to me. But to see the meanes that Rosina made unto me, (for so was she called) the dutifull services and unwoonted circumstances, before she did deliver it, the othes that she sware unto me, and the subtle words and serious protestations she used, it was a pleasant thing, and woorthie the noting. To whom (neverthelesse) with an angrie countenance I turned againe, saying. If I had not regard of mine owne estate, and what heerafter might be said, I would make this sliamelesse face of thine be knowne ever after for a marke of an impudent and bolde minion : but bicause it is the first time, let this suffice that I have saide, and give thee warning to take heede of the second.
Me thinkes I see now the craftie wench, how she helde her peace, dissembling very cunningly the sorrow that she conceived by my angrie answer; for she fained a counterfaite smiling, saying, Jesus, Mistresse ! I gave it you, bicause you might laugh at it, and not to moove your pacience with it in this sort ; for if I had any thought that it woulde have provoked you to anger, I praie God he may shew his wrath as great towards me as ever he did to the daughter of any mother. And with this she added many wordes more (as she could do well enough) to pacific tlie fained anger and ill opinion that I conceived of her, and taking her letter with her, she departed from me. This having passed thus, I began to imagine what might ensue thereof, and love (me thought) did put a certaine desire into my minde to see the letter, though modestie and shame forbad me to aske it of my maide, especially for the wordes that had passed betweene us, as you have heard. And so I continued all that day untill night, in varietie of many
II. 2
10
THE TAVO GENTLEMEN OE VEllONA.
[iNTROD.
tlioug-lits ; Lilt when Eosina came to liclpc mc to "boddc, God knoAves how desirous I was to have her entreat nie againe to take the letter, hut slie woukle never spcakc unto me about it, nor (as it seemed) did so much as once thinkc tliereof. Yet to trie, if by giving- lier some occasion I might prevaile, I saide unto her : And is it so, Rosina, that Don Eelix, witliout any regard to mine honour, dares ^\rite unto me? These are things, mistrcsse, saide she demurely to me againe, that are commonly incident to love, wherfore I beseech you pardon me, for if I had thought to have angred you with it, I woukle have first pulled out the bals of mine eics. How cold my hart was at that blow, God knowcs, yet did I dissemble the matter, and suffer myseKe to remaine that night onely with my desire, and with occasion of little sleepe. And so it was, indeede, for that (me thought) was the longest and most painfull night that ever I passed. But when, with a slower pace then I desired the wished day was come, the discreet and subtle Eosina came into my chamber to helpe me to make me readie, in dooing whereof, of purpose she let the letter closely fall, which, when I perceived, What is that that fell downe? (said I), let me see it. It is nothing, mistresse, saide she. Come, come, let me see it (saide I) : what ! moove me not, or else tell me what it is. Good Lord, mistresse (saide she), why will you see it ! it is the letter I would have given you yesterday. Nay, that it is not (saide I), wherefore shew it me, that I may see if you lie or no. I had no sooner said so, but she put it into my liandes, saying, God never give me good if it be anie other thing ; and although I knewe it well indeede, yet I saide. What, this is not the same, for I know that well enough, but it is one of thy lovers letters : I will read it, to see in what neede he standetli of thy favour. And opening it, I founde it conteined this that folio weth.
" I ever imagined (deere mistresse) that your discretion and wisedome woulde have taken away the feare I had to write unto you, the same knowing well enough (without any letter at all) how much I love you, but the very same hath so cunningly dissembled, that wherein I hoped the onely remedie of my griefes had been, therein consisted my greatest harme. If according to your wisedome you censure my boldnes, I shall not then (I know) enjoy one bower of life ; but if you do consider of it according to loves accustomed effects, then wiU I not exchange my hope for it. Be not offended, I beseech you (good ladie) with my letter, and blame me not for writing unto you, untiU you see by experience whether I can leave of to write : and take me besides into the possession of that which is yours, since all is mine doth Avholly consist in your hands, the which, with all reverence and dutifull aflPection, a thousand times I kisse."
T\nien I had now scene my Don Eelix his letter, whether it was for reading it at such a time, when by the same he shewed that he loved me more then himselfe, or whether he had disposition and regiment over part of this wearied soule, to imprint that love in it whereof he wrote unto me, I began to love him too well, (and, alas, for my harme !) since he was the cause of so much sorrow as I have passed for his sake. Whereupon, asking Bosina forgivenes of what was past (as a thing needfuU for that which was to come) and committing the secrecie of my love to her fidelitie, I read the letter once againe, pausing a little at every ^vorde (and a very little indeede it was) bicause I concluded so soone with my selfe to do that I did, although in verie truth it lay not otherwise in my power to do. Wherefore, calling for paper and inke, I answered his letter thus.
" Esteeme not so slightly of mine honour, Don Eelix, as with fained words to thinke to enveagle it, or with thy vaine pretenses to ofPend it any waies. I know wel enough what manner of man thou art, and how great thy desert and j^resumption is ; from whence thy boldnes doth arise (I gesse), and not from
ixTROD.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA. 11
the force (wliich thing thou wouldst fame perswade me) of thy fervent love. And if it be so (as my suspicion suggesteth) thy labor is as vaine as thy imagination presumptuous, by thinking to make me do any thing contrarie to that which I owe unto mine honour. Consider (I beseech thee) how seldome things com- menced under suttletie and dissimulation have good successe ; and that it is not the part of a gentleman to meane them one way and speak them another. Thou praiest me (amongst other things) to admit thee into possession of that that is mine : but I am of so ill an humour in matters of this qualitie, that I trust not things experienced, how much lesse then thy bare wordes ; yet, neverthelesse, I make no small account of that which thou hast manifested to me in thy letter ; for it is ynough that I am incredulous, though not unthankfull."
This letter did I send, contrarie to that I should have done, bi cause it was the occasion of all my harmes and greefes ; for after this, he began to waxe more bolde by unfolding his thoughts, and seeking out the meanes to have a parly with me. In the ende, faire nymphes, a few dales being spent in his demaunds and my answers, false love did worke in me after his wonted fashions, every hower seasing more strongly upon my unfortunate soule. The tourneies were now renewed, the musicke by night did never cease ; amorous letters and verses were re-continued on both sides ; and thus passed I away almost a whole yeere, at the end whereof, I felt my selfe so far in his love, that I had no power to retire, nor stay my selfe from disclosing my thoughts unto him, the thing which he desired more then his owne life. But my adverse fortune afterwardes would, that of these our mutuall loves (when as now they were most assured) his father had some intelligence, and whosoever revealed them first, perswaded him so cunningly, that his father (fearing least he would have married me out of hand) sent him to the great Princesse Augusta Csesarinas court, telling him, it was not meete that a yoong gentleman, and of so noble a house as he was, should spende his youth idly at home, where nothing could be learned but examples of vice, whereof the very same idlenes (he said) was the onely mistresse. He went away so pensive, that his great greefe would not suffer him to acquaint me with his departure ; which when I knew, how sorrowfidl I remained, she may imagine that hath bene at any time tormented with like passion. To tell you now the life that I led in his absence, my sadnes, sighes, and teares, which every day I powred out of these wearied eies, my toong is far unable : if then my paines were such that I cannot now expresse them, how could I then suffer them? But being in the mids of my mishaps, and in the depth of those woes which the absence of Don Eelix caused me to feele, and it seeming to me that my greefe was without remedie, if he were once scene or knowen of the ladies in that court (more beautifull and gracious then my selfe), by occasion whereof, as also by absence (a capitall enemie to love) I might easily be forgotten, I determined to adventure that, which I thinke never any woman imagined ; which was to apparell my selfe in the habit of a man, and to hye me to the court to see him, in whose sight al my hope and content re- mained. Which determination I no sooner thouglit of then I put in practise, love blinding my eies and minde with an inconsiderate regarde of mine owne estate and condition. To the execution of which attempt I wanted no industrie ; for, being- furnished with the helpe of one of my approoved friends, and treasouresse of my secrets, who bought me such apparell as I willed her, and a good horse for my journey, I went not onely out of my countrie, but out of my deere reputation, which (I thinke) I shall never recover againe ; and so trotted directly to the court, passing by the way many accidents, which (if time would give me leave to tell them) woulde not make you laugh a little to heare them. Twenty daies I was in going thither, at the ende of which, being come to the desired place, I tooke up
12
TUE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA.
[iNTllOD.
mine iniie in a streetc lost {sic) frequented with concursc of people : and the great desire I had to sec the destroier of my joy did not sull'er me to tliinkc of any otlier thing-, but how or where I might see him. To inquire of him of mine host I durst not, lest my comniing might (perhaps) have bene discovered ; and to seeke him foorth I thought it not best, lest some inopinate mishap might have fallen out, whereby I might have bene knowen. Wherefore I passed all that day in these perplexities, while night came on, each hower whereof (me thought) Avas a whole yeere unto me. But midnight being a little past, mine host called at my chamber doore, and tolde me if 1 was desirous to heare some brave musicke, I should arise quickly, and open a Avindow towards the street. The which I did by and by, and making no noise at all, I heard how Don Eelix his page, called Eabius (whom I knew by his voice) saide to others that came witli him, Now it is time, my masters, bicanse the lady is in the gallerie over her garden, taking the fresh aire of the coole night. He had no sooner saide so, but they began to winde three cornets and a sackbot, Avith such skill and SAveetenesse, that it seemed celes- tiall musicke ; and then began a voice to sing, the SAveetest (in my opinion) that ever I heard. And though I Avas in suspence, by hearing Eabius speake, Avhereby a thousand doubtes and imaginations (repugnant to my rest) occurred in my minde, yet I neglected not to heare Avhat Avas sung, bicause their operations were not of such force that they were able to hinder the desire, nor distemper the delight that I conceived by hearing it. That therefore which was sung were these verses : —
SAveete mistresse, harken unto me,
(If it greeves thee to see me die) And hearing, though it greeveth thee,
To heare me yet do not denie.
O grant me then this short content,
Eor forc'd I am to thee to tlie. My sighes do not make thee relent,
Nor teares thy hart do mollifie.
Nothing of mine doth give thee payne.
Nor thou tliink'st of no remedie : Mistresse, how long shall I sustaine
Such ill as still thou dost applie ?
In death there is no helpe, be sure,
Eut in thy Avill, where it doth lie ; Eor all those illes which death doth cure,
Alas ! they are but light to trie :
My troubles do not trouble thee,
Nor hope to touch thy soule so nie : O ! from a AviU that is so free.
What should I hope when I do crie ?
How can I mollifie that brave
And stonie hart of pittie drie ? Yet mistresse, turne those eies (that have
No peeres) shining like stars in skie ;
But turne them not in angrie sort,
If thou wilt not kill me thereby : Though yet, in anger or in sport,
Thou kiUest onely Avith thine eie.
iNTROD.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA. 13
After tliey had first, witli a concent of musicke, sung this song, two plaied, the one upon a lute, the other upon a silver sounding harpc, being accompanied with the sweete voice of my Don Eelix. The great joy that I felt in hearing him cannot be imagined, for (me thought) I heard him nowe, as in that happie and passed time of our loves. But after the deceit of this imagination was discovered, seeing with mine eies, and hearing with mine eares, that this musicke was bestowed upon another, and not on me, God knowes what a bitter death it was unto my soule : and with a greevous sigh, that caried almost my life away with it, I asked mine host if he knew what the ladie was for whose sake the musick was made ? He answered me, that he could not imagine on whom it was bestowed, bicause in that streete dwelled manie noble and faire ladies. And when I saw he could not satisfie my request, I bent mine eares againe to heare my Don Eelix, who now, to the tune of a delicate harpe, whereon he sweetely plaied, began to sing this sonnet following :
A Sonnet. — My painefull yeeres impartiall Love was spending
In vaine and booteles hopes my life appaying,
And cruell Eortune to the world bewraying Strange samples of my teares that have no ending. Time, everie thing to truth at last commending.
Leaves of my steps such markes, that now betraying,
And all deceitfull trusts shall be decaying, And none have cause to plaine of his offending. Shee, whom I lov'd to my obliged power,
That in her sweetest love to me discovers Which never yet I knew (those heavenly pleasures). And I do sale, exclaiming every hower,
Do not you see what makes you wise, O lovers ? Love, Eortune, Time, and my faire mystresse treasures.
The sonnet being ended, they paused awhile, playing on fower lutes togither, and on a paire of virginals, with such heavenly melodic, that the whole worlde (I thinke) could not affoord sweeter musick to the eare nor delight to any minde, not subject to the panges of such predominant greefe and sorrow as mine was. But then fower voices, passing well tuned and set togither, began to sing this song following :
A Song. — That sweetest harme I doe not blame, Eirst caused by thy fairest eies. But greeve, bicause too late I came. To know my fault, and to be wise.
I never knew a worser kinde of life.
To live in feare, from boldnesse still to cease :
Nor, woorse then this, to live in such a strife. Whether of both to speake, or holde my peace ?
And so the harme I doe not blame,
Caused by thee or tliy faire eies ; But that to see how late I came,
To knowe my fault, and to be wise.
TKE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
[iNTROD.
I ever more did feare tliat I should knowc
Some secret tliiiiiis, and doubtl'idl in their kinde,
Eicausc the sm'est things doe ever goc Most contrarie unto my wish and minde.
And yet by knowing- of tlie same
There is no hm't ; hut it denies My remedie, since kite I came,
To knowe my fault, and to be wise.
"When this song was ended, they began to sound divers sorts of instruments, and voices most excellently agreeing togither, and with such sweetnes that they could not chuse but delight any very much who were not so farre from it as I. About daA^ ning of the day the musicke ended, and I did what I could to espie out my Don Eelix, but the darknes of the night was mine enimie therein. And seeing now that they ^Yere gone, I went to bed againe, where I bewailed my great mishap, knowing that he whom most of al I loved, had so unwoorthily forgotten me, whereof his musicke was too manifest a witnes. And when it was time, I arose, and without any other consideration, went straight to the Princesse her pallace, where (I thought) I might see that which I so greatly desired, determining to call my selfe Valerius, if any (perhaps) did aske my name. Comming therefore to a faire broad court before the pallace gate, I viewed the windowes and galleries, where I sawe such store of blazing beauties, and gallant ladies, that I am not able now to recount, nor then to do any more but woonder at their graces, their gor- geous attyre, their jewels, their brave fashions of apparell, and ornaments where- with they were so richly set out. Up and downe this place, before the windowes, roade many lords and brave gentlemen in rich and sumptuous habits, and mounted upon proud jennets, every one casting his eie to that part where his thoughts were secretly placed. God knowes how greatly I desired to see Don Eelix there, and that his injurious love had beene in that famous pallace; bicause I might then have beene assured that he shoulde never have got any other guerdon of his sutes and services, but onely to see and to be seene, and sometimes to speake to his mistresse, whom he must serve before a thousand eies, bicause the privilege of that place doth not give him any further leave. But it was my ill fortune that he had setled his love in that place where I might not be assured of this poore helpe. Thus, as I was standing neere to the pallace gate, I espied Eabius, Don Eelix his page, comming in great haste to the pallace, where, speaking a word or two with a porter that kept the second entrie, he returned the same waie he came. I gessed his errant was, to knowe whether it were fit time for Don Eelix to come to dispatch certaine busines that his father had in the court, and that he could not choose but come thither out of hand. And being in this supposed joy which his sight did promise me, I sawe him comming along with a great traine of followers attending on his person, all of them being bravely apparelled in a liverie of watchet silke, garded with yellow velvet, and stitched on either side with threedes of twisted silver, wearing likewise blew, yellow, and white feathers in their hats. But my lorde Don Eelix had on a paire of ash colour [velvet] hose, embrodered and drawen foorth with watchet tissue ; his dublet was of white satten, embrodered with knots of golde, and likewise an embrodered jerkin of the same coloured velvet ; and his short cape cloke was of blacke velvet, edged with gold lace, and hung full of buttons of pearle and gold, and lined with razed watchet satten : by his side he ware, at a paire of embrodered hangers, a rapier and dagger, with engraven hilts and pommell of beaten golde. On his head, a hat beset full of golden stars, in the mids of everie which a rich orient pearle was enchased, and
ixTEOD.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
15
liis feather was likewise blew, yellow, and white. Mounted he came upon a faire dapple graie jennet, with a rich furniture of blew, embrodered with golde and seede pearle. AYhen I sawe him in this rich equipage, I was so amazed at his sight, that how extremely my sences were ravished with sudden joye I am not able (faire nymphes) to tell you. Truth it is, that I could not but shed some teares for joy and greefe, which his sight did make me feele, but, fearing to be noted by the standers by, for that time I dried them up. But as Don Felix (being now come to the pallace gate) was dismounted, and gone up a paire of staires into the chamber of presence, I went to his men, where they were attending his returne; and seeing Eabius, whom I had scene before amongst them, I tooke him aside, and saide unto him. My friend, I pray you tell me what Lord this is, which did but even now alight from his jennet, for (me thinkes) he is very like one whom I have seene before in an other farre countrey. Eabius then answered me thus ; Art thou such a novice in the court that thou knowest not Don Eelix ? I tell thee there is not any lord, knight, or gentleman better knowne in it then he. No doubt of that (saide I), but I will tell thee what a novice I am, and how small a time I have beene in the court, for yesterday was the first that ever I came to it. Naie then, I cannot blame thee (saide Eabius) if thou knowest him not. Knowe, then, that this gentleman is called Don Eelix, borne in Yandalia, and hath his chiefest house in the ancient cittie of Soldina, and is remaining in this court about certaine affaires of his fathers and his owne. Eut I pray you tell me (said I) why he gives his liveries of these colours ? If the cause were not so manifest, I woulde conceale it (saide Eabius), but since there is not any that knowes it not, and canst not come to any in this court who cannot tell thee the reason why, I tliinke by telling thee it I do no more then in courtesie I am bound to do. Thou must therefore understand, that he loves and serves a ladie heere in this citie named Celia, and therefore weares and gives for his liverie an azm^e blew, which is the colour of the skie, and white and yellow, which are the colours of his lady and mistresse. When I heard these words, imagine (faire nymphes) in what a plight I was ; but dissembling my mishap and griefe, I answered him : This ladie certes is greatly beholding to him, bicause he thinkes not enough, by wearing her colours, to shew how willing he is to serve her, unlesse also he beare her name in his liverie ; whereupon I gesse she cannot be but very faire and amiable. She is no lesse, indeede, saide Eabius, although the other whom he loved and served in our owne countrey in beautie farre excelled this, and loved and favoured him more then ever this did ; but this mischievous absence doth violate and dissolve those things which men thinke to be most strong and firme. At these wordes (faire nymphes) was I faine to come to some composition with my teares, which, if I had not stopped from issuing foorth, Eabius could not have chosen but suspected, by the alteration of my countenance, that all was not well with me. And then the page did aske me, what countrey-man I was, my name, and of what calling and condition I was : whom I answered, that my countrey where I was borne was Yandalia, my name Valerius, and till that time served no master. Then by this reckoning (saide he) we are both countrey-men, and may be both fellowes in one house if thou wilt ; for Don Eelix my master commanded me long since to seeke him out a page. Therefore if thou wilt serve him, say so. As for meate, drinke, and apparell, and a couple of shillings to play away, thou shalt never want; besides pretie wenches, which are not daintie in our streete, as faire and amorous as queenes, of which there is not anie that will not die for the love of so proper a youth as thou art. And to tell thee in secret (because, perhaps, we may be fellowes), I know where an old cannons maide is, a gallant fine girle, whom if thou canst but finde in thy hart to love and serve as I do, thou shalt never want
16
THE TWO GENTLE]\[EN OF VERONA.
[iNTROD.
at lier hands fiiio liaiul-kn-cliers, pccccs of bacon, and now and then wine of S. ]\lart}n. \\ hen 1 heard this, I coukl not choose hut hmg-h, to see how natnrally the unhai)})ie page phiyed his part by depainting foorth their properties in tlieir lively colonrs. And because I thought nothing more commodious for my rest, and for the enjoying of my desire, then to follow Eabius his counsel!, I answered him thus : in truth, 1 determined to serve none ; but now, since fortune hath offered me so good a service, and at such a time, when I am constrained to take this course of life, T shall not do amisse if I frame myselfe to the service of some lord or gentleman in this court, but especially of your master, because he seemes to be a woortliy gentleman, and such an one that makes more reckoning of his servants then an other. Ha, thou knowest him not as well as I (said Eabius) ; for I promise thee, by the faith of a gentleman (for I am one indcede, for my father comes of the Cachopines of Laredo), that my master Don Felix is the best natured gentleman that ever thou knewest in thy life, and one who useth his pages better then any other. And were it not for those troublesome loves, which makes us runne up and downe more, and sleepe lesse, then we woulde, there were not such a master in the whole worlde againe. In the end (faire npnphes) Eabius spake to his master, Hon Felix, as soone as he was come foorth, in my behalfe, who commanded me the same night to come to him at his lodging. Thither I went, and he entertained me for his page, making the most of me in the worlde ; where, being but a fewe daies with him, I sawe the messages, letters, and gifts that were brought and caried on both sides, greevous wounds (alas ! and corsives to my dying hart), which made my soule to flie sometimes out of my body, and every hower in hazard to leese my forced patience before every one. But after one moneth was past, Hon Felix began to like so well of me, that he disclosed his whole love unto me, from the beginning unto the present estate and forwardnes that it was then in, committing the charge thereof to my secrecie and helpe ; telling me that he was favoured of her at the beginning, and that afterwards she waxed wearie of her loving and accustomed entertainment, the cause whereof was a secret report (whosoever it was that buzzed it into her eares) of the love that he did beare to a lady in his owne countrey, and that his present love unto her was but to entertaine the time, while his busines in the court were dispatched. And there is no doubt (saide Hon Felix unto me) but that, indeede, I did once commence that love that she laies to my charge ; but God knowes if now there be any thing in the world that I love and esteeme more deere and precious then her. When I heard him say so, you may imagine (faire nymphes) what a mortall dagger pierced my wounded heart. But with dis- sembling the matter the best I coulde, I answered him thus : It were better, sir (me tliinkes), that the gentlewoman should complaine with cause, and that it were so indeed ; for if the other ladie, whom you served before, did not deserve to be forgotten of you, you do her (under correction, my lord) the greatest wrong in the world. The love (said Hon Felix againe) which I beare to my Celia will not let me understand it so ; but I have done her (me tliinkes) the greater injurie, having placed my love first in an other, and not in her. Of these wrongs (saide I to my selfe) I know who beares the woorst away! And disloyall he, pulling a letter out of his bosome, which he had received the same hower from his mistresse, reade it unto me, thinking that he did me a great favour thereby, the contents whereof were these :
Celias letter to Don Felix. — " Never any thing that I suspected, touching thy love, hath beene so farre from the truth, that hath not given me occasion to beleeve more often mine owne imagination then thy innocencie ; wherein, if
INTROD.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE YEEONA.
17
I do thee any wrong, referre it but to the censure of thine owne follie. Eor well thou mightest have denied, or not declared thy passed love, without giving me occasion to condemne thee by thine owne confession. Thou saiest I was the cause that made thee forget thy former love. Comfort thy selfe, for there shall not want another to make thee forget thy second. And assure thy selfe of this (lord Don Eelix) that there is not any thing more unbeseeming a gentleman, then to finde an occasion in a gentlewoman to leese himselfe for her love. I will sale no more, but that in an ill, where there is no remedie, the best is not to seeke out any."
After he had made an end of reading the letter, he said unto me, AVhat thinkest thou, Valerius, of these words? With pardon, be it spoken, my Lord, that your deedes are shewed by them. Go to, said Don Eelix, and speake no more of that. Sir, saide I, they must like me wel, if they like you, because none can judge better of their words that love well then they themselves. But that which I thinke of the letter is, that this gentlewoman would have beene the first, and that fortune had entreated her in such sort, that all others might have envied her estate. But what wouldest thou counsell me ? saide Don Eelix. If thy griefe doth suffer any counsell, saide I, that thy thoughts be [not] divided into this second passion, since there is so much due to the first. Don Eelix answered me againe, sighing, and knocking me gently on the shoulder, saying. How wise art thou, Valerius, and what good counsell dost thou give me if I could follow it. Let us now go in to dinner, for when I have dined, I will have thee carie me a letter to my lady Celia, and then thou shalt see if any other love is not woorthy to be forgotten in lieu of thinking onely of her. These were wordes that greeved Eelismena to the hart, but bicause she had him before her eies, whom she loved more then her-selfe, the content, that she had by onely seeing him, was a sufficient remedie of the paine, that the greatest of these stings did make her feele. After Don Eelix had dined, he called me unto him, and giving me a speciall charge what I should do (because he had imparted his griefe unto me, and put his hope and remedie in my hands), he willed me to carie a letter to Celia, which he had alreadie written, and, reading it first unto me, it said thus :
Bon Felix Ms letter to Celia. — " The thought, that seekes an occasion to forget the thing which it doth love and desire, suffers it selfe so easily to be knoAvne, that (without troubling the minde much) it may be quickly discerned. And thinke not (faire ladie) that I seeke a remedie to excuse you of that, wherewith it pleased you to use me, since I never came to be so much in credit with you, that in lesser things I woulde do it. I have confessed unto you that indeede I once loved well, because that true love, without dissimulation, doth not suffer any thing to be hid, and you (deere ladie) make that an occasion to forget me, which should be rather a motive to love me better. I cannot perswade me, that you make so small an account of your selfe, to thinke that I can forget you for any thing that is, or hath ever been, but rather imagine that you write cleane contrarie to that, which you have tried by my zealous love and faith towards you. Touching all those things, that, in prejudice of my good wiU towards you, it pleaseth you to imagine, my innocent thoughts assure me to the contrarie, which shall sufiice to be iU recompenced besides being so ill thought of as they are."
After Don Eelix had read this letter unto me, he asked me if the answer was correspondent to those words that his ladie Celia had sent him in hers, and if there was any thing therein that might be amended ; whereunto I answered thus : I thinke. Sir, it is needlesse to amende this letter, or to make the gentlewoman amendes, to whom it is sent, but her, whom you do injurie so much with it. Which under your lordships pardon I speake, bicause I am so much aflFected to the first love in all my life, that there is not any thing that can make me alter
II. . 3
18 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE YEllONA. [introd.
my iiiiiulc. Thou hast the g-rcatest reason in the world (said Don Eelix) if I coulde ])ers\vade niy selfe to leave of that, which I have begun, liwt what wilt thou have nie do, since absence hath frozen the former love, and the continuall presence of a peerelesse beautie rekindled another more hot and fervent in me ? Tluis may she thinke her selfe (saide I ag-aine) unjustly deceived, whom first you loved, because that love which is subject to the i)ower of absence cannot be termed love, and none can perswade me that it hath beene love. These words did I dissemble the best I could, because I felt so sensible griefe, to see myselfe forgotten of him, who had so great reason to love me, and whom I did love so much, that I did more, then any would have thought, to make my selfe still unknowen. But taking tlie letter and mine errant with me, I went to Celias house, imagining by the way the wofull estate whereunto my haplesse love had brought me ; since I was forced to make warre against mine owne selfe, and to be the intercessour of a thing so contrarie to mine owne content. But comming to Celias house, and finding a page standing at the dore, I asked him if I might speake with his ladie : who being informed of me from whence I came, tolde Celia how I would speake with her, commending therewithall my beautie and person unto her, and telling her besides, that Don Eelix had but lately entertained me into his service ; which made Celia saie unto him, What, doth Don Eelix so soone disclose his secret loves to a page, but newly entertained? he hath (belike) some great occasion that mooves him to do it. Bid him com in, and let us know what he would have. In I came, and to the place where the enimie of my life was, and, with great reverence kissing her hands, I delivered Don Eelix his letter unto her. Celia tooke it, and casting her eies upon me, I might perceive how my sight had made a sudden alteration in her countenance, for she was so farre besides herselfe, that for a good while she was not able to speake a worde, but, remembring her selfe at last, she saide unto me, What good fortune hath beene so favourable to Don Eelix to bring thee to this court, to make thee his page? Even that, faire ladie, saide I, which is better then ever I imagined, bicause it hath beene an occasion to make me behold such singular beautie and perfections as now I see cleerely before mine eies. And if tlie paines, the teares, the sighes, and the continuall disquiets that my lord Don Eelix hath suffred have greeved me heeretofore, now that I have scene the source from whence they flow, and the cause of all his ill, the pittie that I had on him is now wholly converted into a certaine kinde of envie. But if it be true (faire lady) tliat my comming is welcome unto you, I beseech you by that, wdiich you owe to the great love which he beares you, that your answer may import no lesse unto him. There is not anie thing (saide Celia) that I would not do for thee, though I w^ere determined not to love him at all, who for my sake hath forsaken another ; for it is no small point of wisedome for me to learne by other womens harmes to be more wise, and w^arie in mine owne. Beleeve not, good lady (saide I), that there is any thing in the worlde that can make Don Eelix forget you. And if he hath cast off another for your sake, woonder not thereat, when your beautie and wisedome is so great, and the others so small that there is no reason to thinke that he will (though he hath woorthelie forsaken her for your sake) or ever can forget you for any woman else in the worlde. Doest thou then know Eelismena (said Celia), the lady whom thy master did once love and serve in his owne countrey ? I know her (saide I), although not so well as it was needfuU for me to have pre- vented so many mishaps, (and this I spake softly to my selfe); for my fathers house was neere to hers ; but seeing your great beautie adorned with such perfections and wisedome, Don Eelix can not be blamed, if he hath forgotten his first love only to embrace and honour yours. To this did Celia answer, merily
lOTROD.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
19
and smiling, Thou hast learned quickly of thy master to sooth. Not so, faire ladie, saide I, but to serve you woulde I faine learne : for flatterie cannot be, where (in the judgement of all) there are so manifest signes and proofes of this due commendation. Celia began in good earnest to aske me what manner of woman Eelismena was, whom I answered, that, touching her beautie. Some thought her to be very faire; but I was never of that opinion, bicause she hath many daies since wanted the chiefest thing that is requisite for it. What is that ? said Celia. Content of minde, saide I, bicause perfect beautie can never be, where the same is not adjoyned to it. Thou hast the greatest reason in the world, said she, but I have scene some ladies whose lively hewe sadnes hath not one whit abated, and others whose beautie anger hath encreased, which is a strange thing me thinkes. Haplesse is that beauty, said I, that hath sorrow and anger the preservers and mistresses of it, but I cannot skill of these impertinent things : And yet that woman, that must needes be molested with continuaU paine and trouble, with greefe and care of minde and with other passions to make her looke well, cannot be reckoned among the number of faire women, and for mine owne part I do not account her so. Wherein thou hast great reason, said she, as in all tilings else that thou hast saide, thou hast shewed thy selfe wise and discreete. Which I have deerely bought, said I againe : But I beseech you (gracious lady) to answer this letter, because my lord Don Eelix may also have some contentment, by receiving this first well emploied service at my hands. I am content, saide Celia, but first thou must teU me if Eelismena in matters of discretion be wise, and well advised? There was never any woman (saide I againe) more wise then she, bicause she hath beene long since beaten to it by her great mishaps : but she did never advise her selfe well, for if she had (as she was accounted wise) she had never come to have bene so contrarie to her selfe. Thou speakest so wisely in all thy answeres, saide Celia, that there is not any that woulde not take great delight to heare them : — which are not viands (said I) for such a daintie taste, nor reasons for so ingenious and fine a conceit (faire lady), as you have, but boldly affirming, that by the same I meane no harme at aU. There is not any thing, saide Celia, whereunto thy wit cannot attaine, but because thou shalt not spende thy time so ill in praising me, as thy master doth in praying me, I wiU reade thy letter, and teU thee what thou shalt say unto him from me. Whereupon unfolding it, she began to read it to her selfe, to whose countenance and gestures in reading of the same, which are oftentimes outwarde signes of the inwarde disposition and meaning of the hart, I gave a watchfull eie. And when she had read it, she said unto me, Tell thy master, that he that can so well by wordes expresse what he meanes, cannot choose but meane as well as he saith : and comming neerer unto me, she saide softly in mine eare, And this for the love of thee, Valerius, and not so much for Don Eelix thy master his sake, for I see how much thou lovest and tenderest his estate. And from thence, alas (saide I to my selfe), did all my woes arise. Whereupon kissing her hands for the great curtesie and favour she shewed me, I hied me to Don Eelix with this answer, which was no small joy to him to heare it, and another death to me to report it, saying manie times to my selfe (when I did either bring him home some joyfuU tydings or carrie letters or tokens to her), O thrise unfortunate Eelismena, that with thine owne weapons art constrained to wounde thy ever-dying hart, and to heape up favours for him, who made so small account of thine. And so did I passe away my life with so many torments of minde, that if by the sight of my Don Eelix they had not beene tempered, it coulde not have otherwise beene but that I must needes have lost it. More tlien two monethes togither did Celia hide from me the fervent love she bare me, although not in such sort, but that by
20
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA.
[iNTROD.
cert nine apjiarant sij^ncs I came to the knowlcdg-c thereof, whicli was no small light iuii- and case of tliat grieCc, which incessantly haunted my wearied spirites ; for as I thoug'ht it a strong- occasion, and the onely meane to make her utterly forget Don Eelix, so likewise I imagined, that, perhaps, it might befall to him as it hath done to many, that the force of ingratitude, and contempt of his love, might have utterly abolished such tlioughtes out of his hart. But, alas, it happened not so to my Don Eelix ; for the more he perceived that his ladie forgot him, the more was his minde troubled with greater cares and greefe, whicli made him leade the most sorrowfidl life that niiglit be, whereof the least part did not fall to my lot, Eor remedie of whose sighes and pitious lamentations, poore Eelismena (even by maine force) did get favours from Celia, scoring them up (whensoever she sent them by me) in the catalogue of my infinite mishaps. Eor if by chaunce he sent her anie thing by any of his other servants, it was so slenderly accepted, that he thought it best to send none unto her but my selfe, preceiving what inconvenience did ensue tliereof. But God knowes how many teares my messages cost me, and so many they were, that in Celias presence I ceased not to powre them foorth, earnestly beseeching her witli praiers and petitions not to entreat him so ill, who loved her so much, bicause I woulde binde Don Eelix to me by the greatest bonde, as never man in like was bounde to any woman. My teares greeved Celia to the hart, as well for that I shed them in her presence, as also for that she sawe if I meant to love her, I woulde not (for requitall of hers to me) have soUicited her with such diligence, nor pleaded with such pittie, to get favours for another. And thus I lived in the greatest confusion that might be, amids a thousand anxieties of minde, for I imagined with my selfe, that if I made not a shew that I loved her, as she did me, I did put it in hazard lest Celia, for despite of my simplicitie or contempt, woulde have loved Don Eelix more then before, and by loving him that mine coulde not have any good successe ; and if I fained ray selfe, on the other side, to be in love with her, it might have beene an occasion to have made her reject my lord Don Eelix ; so that with the thought of his love neglected, and with the force of her contempt, he might have lost his content, and after that, his life, the least of which two mischiefes to prevent I woulde have given a thousand lives, if I had them. Manie dales passed away in this sort, wherein I served him as a thirde betweene both, to the great cost of my contentment, at the end whereof the successe of his love went on woorse and woorse, bicause the love that Celia did beare me was so great, that the extreme force of her passion made her leese some part of that compassion she should have had of her selfe. And on a day after that I had caried and recaried many messages and tokens betweene them, somtimes faining some my selfe from her unto him, because I could not see him (whom I loved so deerly) so sad and pensive, with many supplications and earnest praiers I besought lady Celia with pittie to regard the painfull life that Don Eelix passed for her sake, and to consider that by not favouring him, she was repugnant to that which she owed to her selfe : which thing I entreated, bicause I sawe him in such a case, that there was no other thing to be expected of him but death, by reason of the continuall and great paine which his greevous thoughts made him feele. But she, with swelling teares in her eies, and with many sighes, answered me thus : Unfortunate and accursed Celia, that nowe in the end dost know how thou livest deceived with a false opinion of thy great simplicitie (ungratefull Valerius) and of thy small discretion. I did not beleeve till now that thou didst crave favours of me for thy master, but onely for thy selfe, and to enjoy my sight all that time, that thou diddest spende in suing to me
INTROD.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA.
21
for them. But now I see thou dost aske them in earnest, and that thou art so content to see me use him well, that thou canst not (without doubt) love me at all,
0 how ill dost thou acquite the love I beare thee, and that which, for thy sake, I do nowe forsake ? O that time might revenge me of thy proude and fooHsh minde, since love hath not beene the meanes to do it. Eor I cannot thinke that Eortune will be so contrarie unto me, but that she will punish thee for contemning that great good which she meant to bestow on thee. And tell thy lord Don Eelix, that if he will see me alive, that he see me not at all : and thou, vile traitour, cruell enemie to my rest, com no more (I charge thee) before these wearied eies, since their teares were never of force to make thee knowe how much thou art bound unto them. And with this she suddenly flang out of my sight with so many teares, that mine were not of force to stale her. For in the greatest haste in the worlde she got her into her chamber, where locking the dore after her, it availed me not to call and crie unto her, requesting her with amorous and sweete words to open me the dore, and to take such satisfaction on me as it pleased her : nor to tell her many other things, whereby I declared unto her the small reason she had to be so angrie with me, and to shut me out. But with a strange kinde of furie she saide unto me. Come no more, ungratefull and proud Valerius, in my sight, and speake no more unto me, for thou art not able to make satisfaction for such great disdaine, and I will have no other remedie for the harme which thou hast done me, but death it selfe, the which with mine owne hands I will take in satisfaction of that, which thou deservest : which words when I heard, I staled no longer, but with a heavie cheere came to my Don Eelix his lodging, and, with more sadnes then I was able to dissemble, tolde him that I could not speake with Celia, because she was visited of certaine gentlewomen her kinsewomen. But the next day in the morning it was bruted over all the citie, that a certaine trance had taken her that night, wherein she gave up the ghost, which stroke all the court with no smal woonder. But that, which Don Eelix felt by her sudden death, and how neere it greeved his very soule, as I am not able to tell, so cannot humane intendement conceive it, for the complaints he made, the teares, the burning sighes, and hart-breake sobbes, were without all measure and number. But I sale nothing of my selfe, when on the one side the unluckie death of Celia touched my soule very neere, the teares of Don Eelix on the other did cut my hart in two with greefe : and yet this was nothing to that intollerable paine which afterwardes
1 felt. Eor Don Eelix heard no sooner of her death, but the same night he was missing in his house, that none of his servants nor any bodie else could tell any newes of him.
Whereupon you may perceive (faire nymphes) what cruell torments I did then feele : then did I wish a thousand times for death to prevent all those woes and myseries, which afterwards befell unto me : for Eortune (it seemed) was but wearie of those which she had but till then given me. But as all the care and diligence which I emploied in seeking out my Don EelLx was but in vaine, so I resolved with my selfe to take this habite upon me as you see, wherein it is more then two yeeres since I have wandred up and downe, seeking him in manie countryes : but my Eortune hath denied me to finde him out, although I am not a little now bounde unto her by conducting me hither at this time, wherein I did you this small peece of service. Which (faire nymphes) beleeve me, I account (next after his life in whom I have put all my hope) the greatest content that might have fallen unto me.
Yong's translation of Montemayor, although not printed before 1598, having been composed many years previously,
22
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA. [inthod.
there is not tlic least improbability in the supposition that a nianiiseript copy, cither of this or of some other translation, had fallen in Shakespeare's way. Wilson's translation, which differs considerably from that by Yon<^, is still preserved in manuscript, and although it consists only of the first book, is worthy of notice as an evidence of the popularity of the work in this country. It is entitled, " Diana de IVlontcmayor done out of Spanish by Thomas Wilson esquire in the yeare 1596, and dedicated to the Erie of Southampton, who was then uppon the Spanish voiage with my Lord of Essex ; wherein, under the names and vailes of sheppards and theire lovers, are covertly discovried manic noble actions and affections of the Spanish nation, as is of the English of that admirable and never enough praised booke of Sir Philip Sidneyes Arcadia;" but notwith- standing the testimony of the title-page, the translation is really inscribed to the right honorable Sir Fulke Grevyll Knight, Privie Counsellor to his Majesty, and Chancellor of the Ex- chequer, my most honorable and truly worthy to be honored frend." According to Wilson, the Diana was one of Sidney's favorite works. "When the rest of these my chyldish exercises can be found," he observes, "your honor only shall have the use of them, for that I know you will well esteeme of them, because that your most noble and never enough honored frend Sir Phillipp Siddney did very much affect and imitate the excellent author thereof, whoe might well tearme his booke Diana as the Suter of Apollo and the twinn borne with him, as his Arcadia, which by your noble vertue the world so hapily enjoyes, might well have had the name of Phoebus, for never was our age lightned with two starres of such high and eminent witt, as are the bookes of these two excelling authors, which doe resemble one another as the sonne and the moone doth, but with this contrariety, that as the moone takes her light from the sonne, soe heere this sonne, taking some light from this moone, grewe much more resplendent then that from whence it had it." The manuscript is a neatly written quarto, and was preserved until lately in the archives of a Warwickshire family.
It is worthy of remark that a play called 'Felix and Philiomena' was performed before Queen Elizabeth in 1584, conjectured by one critic to have been a drama on the story in INIontemayor, one of the names having been mis-written : — "The history of Felix and Philiomena shewed and enacted before her highnes by her Majesties servauntes on the sondaie
INTEOD.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
23
next after newe yeares daie, at niglit, at Grenewiclie, whereon was ymploied one battlement and a house of canvas." No conclusion, however, can be safely derived from this obscure notice, but it is by no means impossible that the Two Gentle- men of Verona, as we now possess it, has received additions from its author's hands to what was perhaps originally a very meager production. This conjecture would well agree with what is known to have been the dramatic usage of the time ; and it seems difficult to account on any other supposition for the use Shakespeare has made of the tale of Felismena. The absolute origin of the entire plot has possibly to be discovered in some Italian novel. The error in the first folio of Padua for Milan, in the second act, and the other oversights of a similar description which occur in this play, have perhaps to be referred to some of the scenes in the original tale.
The commentators have brought much curious learning to illustrate the question of the date at which this play was written ; but their arguments are for the most part founded on vague generalities, such as notices of foreign adventure and classical allusions, not by any means sufficiently minute to enable us to conclude any particular circumstances were in- tended by the author. Meres, in his *Wits Treasury,' 1598, says " Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage ; for comedy, witness his Gentlemen of Verona, his Errors, &c." This is the earliest notice of the play that has come down to us ; but most critics believe it to have been written several years before the publication of the 'Wits Treasury,' and Mr. Hudson (Lectures on Shakespeare, i. 220) appears to consider it the poet's earliest dramatic Avork.
Although probably not quite the "first heir" of Shake- speare's dramatic invention, the Two Gentlemen of Verona exhibits a deficiency of effective situation, and to some extent a crudity of construction, which would most likely have been avoided by a practised writer for the stage. But these defects are unnoticed by the reader in the richness of its poetical beauties and overflowing humour, — its romance and pathos. The tale is based on love and friendship. Valentine is the ideal personification of both, of pure love to Silvia, and romantic attachment to the friend of his youth. Proteus, on the contrary, selfish and sensual, suffers himself to be guided by his passions, and concludes his inconstancy to his love with perfidious treachery to his friend. Valentine, noble and brave,
24
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA.
[iNTROD.
but timid before tbe mistress of his affections, adoring Silvia's glove, and too diffident even to interpret her stratagem of the letter : Proteus, daring all, and losing his integrity, in the excess of a tunudtuous passion. If Shakespeare has painted these elements in an outhne something too bold for the extreme refinement of the present day, the error must be ascribed to his era, not to himself; and if it be also objected to this play, that the female characters are germs only of more powerful creations in Twelfth Night or Cymbeline, the reader must bear in mind they are perhaps more suitable to the extreme simplicity of the story, and that the chief object of the dramatist is directed to the development of the characters of Valentine and Proteus, who are the essential dramatic agents of the comedy.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Duke of Milan, father to Silvia. Valentine, Proteus, Antonio, father to Proteus. Thueio, a foolish rival to Valentine. Eglamoue,, agent for Silvia in her escape. Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. Launce, a cloimiish servant to Proteus. Panthino, servant to Antonio. Host, ichere Julia lodges in Milan. Out-laws.
Julia, a Lady of Verona, heloved hy Proteus. Silvia, the Duke's daughter, heloved hy Valentine. Lucetta, waiting-iooman to Julia.
Servants, Musicians.
SCENE, sometimes in Verona ; sometimes in Milan ; and on the frontiers
of Mantua.
IL
4
%d i\t Jfirsi
SCENE I. — An open place in Verona.
Enter Valentine and Proteus.
Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ;^ Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits ;^ Were 't not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully^ sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.* But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein. Even as I would, when I to love begin.
Pro. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note-worthy^ 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.
F^al. And on a love-book pray for my success.
Pro. Upon some book I love, I '11 pray for thee.
Val. That 's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.^
Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love ; For he was more than over shoes in love.^
28
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA, [act i. sc. i.
T al. 'T is true ; for you arc over boots in love," And yet you never swam the Hellespont.
Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. ^"
J ol. No, I will not, for it boots thee not, —
Pro. What ?
T al. To be in love, where seorn 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 labour won ; However, but a folly bought with wit," Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
Pro. So, by your circumstance,^^ you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you '11 prove.
Pro. 'T is Love you cavil at ; I am not Love.
Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : And he that is so yoked by a fool, !Metliinks should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Val. 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 turn'd 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 I my father at the road" Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
Pro. And thither will I bring thee,^' Valentine.
Val. 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.
Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan !
Val. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell.
\JExit Valentine.
Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : He leaves his friends to dignify them more ;
Fa^scmde &om. t/ie /irst Ec/itiott of ShaAespea^re^ fol : Lorvdon. 16Z3 .
20
THE
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Hus primus y Scena prma.
Valentine : Protheuj, and Speed.
yntentiite. 5E»fc to pcrfwadc, my loujng Pr0tketa ; t-Homc-kceping youthjhauc ciier homely wits, > W"«r'f not affc(^ion chimes thy tender daycs Xo the fweetglaunces of thy honom'd Louc, I rather would entreat thy company, To fee the wonders of the world abroad, Then (liuing dully fluggardiz'd at home) Wcarc out thy youth with fhapclcflc tdlcneiTc. But fincc thou lou'ftj louc ftill, and thriuc therein, Eucn as 1 would, when I to loue begin.
Pro. Wilt thou be gonc'Swcct VAleHttKe ad ew, Thinkc on thy Trothetu, when tiiou(hap'ly) fecil Some rare note-worthy obiedl in thy trauajle. Wifh me partaker in thy happineffe. When thou do'ft meet good hap; and in thy danger, (If euer danger doe enuiron thee) Commend thy grieuance to my holy prayers, Fori will be thy beadef-man, VaUntitie.
Vol. And on a louc-booke pray for my fuccePfc ? Pre. Vpon fomebookc I loue, I'lc pray for thee. Yal. That's on fomc rtiallow Stotie of dccpe loue. How yong Leander croft the HeRe/pent.
Pro. That's a deepe Storic, of a deeper louc. For he was more then ouer-fhooet in loue.
XJal. 'Tis trues for you areouer-bootes in loue, And yet you neuer fwom the HelUfpont.
pro. Ouer the Bootes? nay giucmcnottheBootj. Val. No, I will not; for ic boots thee not. Pro. What i (grones ;
To be m loue; where fcornc is bought with Coy lookf, with hart- fo re fighcs : one fading moments With twenty watchfulI,weary,tedioui nights; (mirth, If hap'ly won,perhaps a haplcffe gainc ; If loft, why then a gricuous labour won ,• How euer ; but a folly bought with wit, Or elfe a witjbyfolly vanquifK^d.
Pro. So, by your circumflance,you call me foole. VmI. So,by your circumftancc,! feare you'llproue. 9yo. 'Tis Lootf you canill at, I am not Loue, Loue is your maCVcr, for he maftersyou ; And he that is fo yoked by a foole, Mcthinkesfbould not bechromclcd for wife.
Prv. Yet Writers fay ; as in the fwccteft Bud, The eating Canker dwds ; fo eating Loue Inhabits in the fined witi of all.
Vdl, And Writers fay; as the moft for ward Bud
Is eaten by the Canker ere it blow,
Eucn fo by Loue, the yong,and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blafting in the Bud,
Looiinghis verdure, eucn intheprime,
And all the fairc effe£is offuture hopes.
But wherefore wafte I time to counfailc thee
That art a votary to fond defire
Once more adieu : my Father at the Road
ExpeiSls my coniming, thereto fee mcfhip'd.
Pro. And thither will I bring xhcc Falentine.
Vnl, Sweet no ; Now let vs take our Icaue; To LMiHeime let me hcarc from thee by Letters Of thy fuccelfe in louc ; and what newcs elfc Betidcth herein abfcnccof thy Friend : And I likffwifc will vifite thee with mine.
Pro. All happineffe bechance to thee in MiBAine. Vtil. As much to you at home.- and fo farewell. Exit.
Pro He after Honour hunts, I after Loue He leaucs his fricnds,to dignifie rhemmore; I loue rny fclfe, my friends, and all for louc : Thou Ifdia thou haft mctamorphisM me : MademencgleA my Studies, loofe my time^ Warre with good counfailc; fet the world at nought ; Made Wit with mufing,wcake; iiartfick with thought.
Sp, Sxr'Prothew.'hucyoii : fawyoumyMflfter ? Pre.^nt now he parted hence to embarque ioxAiilUin,
Sp. Twenty to one then, he is fhip'd already, And I haue plaid the Sheepe in loofing him.
Trc Indeede a Sheepe doth very often ftray. And if the Shephcard be awhile away.
Sp. You conclude that my Maftenis a Shephcard then, and ISheepe-f fro. I doe.
Sp. Why then my homes arc his homes, whether I v/akeor flccpc.
fro. A filly anfwere, and fitting well a Sheepe.
Sp. This ptoues me ftill a Sheepe.
?ro. True : and thy Maftcr 3 Shephcard.
Sp. Nay, that I can deny by a circumftancc.
Pro. It fhall gochard but ile prouc it by another.
Sp. The Shephcard fcckes the Sheepe, and not the Sheepe thcShepheard ; but Ifceke my Maftcr, and my Maftcr fcekes not me : therefore I am no Shccpc.
Pro. The Sheepe for fodder follov/ the Shephcard, thcShepheard for tbodefollowcs not theShcepc : thou for wages followeft thy Maftcr, thy Maftcr for wages followes not thee : therefore thou art a Sheepe.
Sf. Such another proofc will make mc cry baa.
Pro, But do'ft thou hcarc: gau'ft thou my Letter to Julia f
Sp.\
ACT I. SC. I.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
29
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.^^ Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd 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.
Enter Speed.
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! Saw you my master ?
Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.
Speed. Twenty to one then he is sliipp'd already. And I have play'd the sheep^^ in losing him.
Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away.
Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then, and I a sheep.
Pro. I do.
Speed. Why, then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
Speed. This proves me still a sheep.
Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd.
Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
Pro. It shall go hard but I '11 prove it by another.
Speed. 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.
Pro. The sheep for fodder 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.
Speed. Such another proof will make me cry *baa.'
Pro. But, dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to Julia?
Speed. Ay, Sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd mutton \ ^ and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour !
Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.
Speed, If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her.
Pro. Nay, in that you are a-stray;"^ 't were best pound you.
Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.
Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, — a pinfold.
30
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE YEUONA. [act i. sc. i.
Speed. From a pound to a fold it over and over,
is threefold too little for earrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she ? Speed. She did" — [he nods.^ Pro. Did she nod? Speed. I.
Pro. Nod, I; Avhy, that's noddy.
Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask me if she did nod ; and I say, I.
Pro. And that set together is — noddy.
Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains.
Pro. No, no, you shall have it for hearing the letter.
Speed. Well, I pereeive I must be fain to bear with you.
Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ?
Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having nothing but the word ' noddy' for my pains.
Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief : what said she ?
Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once delivered.
Pro. AYell, sir, here is for your pains [giving him money): Avhat said she ?
Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her.
Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?
Speed. 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 '11 prove as hard to you in telling your mind."* Give her no token but stones, for she 's as hard as steel.
Pro. What I said she nothing ?
Speed. No, not so much as — 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd " me ; in requital whereof, hencefortli carry your letters yourself : and so, sir, I 11 commend you to my master. \_Exit.
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being destin'd to a drier death on shore I must go send some better messenger; I fear my Julia would not deign my lines.
Receiving them from such a worthless post."'^ [Exit.
ACT I. SC. n.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA.
SCENE II. — The same. Garden o/" Julia's House. Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, WoLildst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love?
Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfully.
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, That every day with parle"^ encounter me. In thy opinion which is worthiest love ?
Luc. Please you repeat their names, I '11 show my mind According to my shallow simple skill.
Jul. What think' st thou of the fair sir Eglamour
Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ; But, were I you, he never should be mine.
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ?
Luc. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so.
Jid. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ?
Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns in us !
Jul. How now ! what means this passion at his name ?
Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 't is a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am. Should censure^° thus on lovely gentlemen.
Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of aU the rest ?
Luc. Then thus : of many good I think him best.
Jul. Your reason?
Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; I think him so, because I think him so.
Jul. And wouldst tliou have me cast my love on him? Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Jul. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.^^ Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Luc. Fire that 's closest kept burns most of all. Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Luc. O, they love least, that let men know their love. Jul. I would 1 knew his mind. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. Jid. ' To Julia ! ' — Say, from whom ? Luc. That the contents will show. Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee.
Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from Protci
33
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA, [aci i. sc. ii.
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, Did in your name reeeive it ; pardon tlie fault, I pray.
Jul. Now, by niy modesty, a goodly broker Dare you presmne to harbour wanton lines ? To whisper and eons})ire against my youth ? Now, trust me, 't is an ofiiee of great worth, And you an offieer fit for the place. There, take the paper ! see it be return'd, Or else return no more into my sight !
Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
Jul. Will ye be gone ?
Luc. [Aside. That you may ruminate. [Exit.
Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. It were a shame to eall her back again. And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. AYhat 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 tliat^^ ^Yhich they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.' 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 angerly^^ I taught my brow to frown. When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! My penance is, to call Lucetta back. And ask remission for my folly past. What, ho ! Lucetta !
Re-enter Lucetta.
L^ic. What would your ladyship?
Jul. Is 't near dinner-time?
Luc. I would it were. That you might kill your stomach^" on your meat, And not upon your maid.
Jul. What is 't that you took up so gingerly ?^'^
Luc. Nothing.
J III. Why didst thou stoop then ?
Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall.
Jul. And is that paper nothing?
Luc. Nothing concerning me.
Jul. Tlien let it lie for those that it concerns.
ACT I. SC. II.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA.
33
Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter.
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
Luc. That I might sing it, Madam, to a tune: Give me a note : your ladyship can set —
Jul. As little by such toys^^ as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' love.'^^
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul. Heavy? belike it hath some burden then.
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.
Jul. And why not you ?
Luc. I cannot reach so high.
Jul. Let's see your song: — How now, minion? [Slaps her.
Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
Jul. You do not?
Luc. No, madam ; 't is too sharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant :^^ There wantetli but a mean to fill your song.^°
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.*^
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation! \_Tears the letter.
Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie: You would be fing'ring them, to anger me.
Luc. She makes it strange;*^ but she would be best pleas'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit.
Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!
0 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!
1 'U 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 heal'd;
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.^^
II. 5
34 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VETIONA. [acti. sc. in.
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 '11 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.
Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc. Madam, dinner is ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go.
Luc. Wliat, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?
Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up.
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.*''
Jul. I see you have a month's mind*^ to them.
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul. Come, come; will 't please you go? [Exeunt,
SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's House.
E^iter Antonio and Panthino.*^
Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk*^ was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pan. 'T was of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him?
Pan. He wonder'd 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 ^^'ars, 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:
ACT I. sc. III.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
35
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.
Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that. Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider'd well his loss of time. And how he cannot be a perfect man. Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: Experience is by industry achiev'd. And perfected by the swift course of time: Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
Pmi. I think your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court.^^
Ant. I know it well.
Pan. 'T were good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen. And be in eye of every exercise Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
Ant. I like thy counsel : well hast thou advis'd : And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known: Even with the speediest expedition, I will despatch him to the emperor's court.
Pan. To-morrow, 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.
Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: And, — in good time.^*
Enter Proteus readmg.
Now will we break with him.^^
Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn: O, that our fathers would applaud our loves. To seal our happiness with their consents! O heavenly Julia!
Ant. How now? what letter are you reading there?
36
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEUONA. [act i. sc. hi.
Pro. May 't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
Ant. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news.
Pro. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes How happily he lives, how well-belov'd. And daily graced by the emperor; Wishing me Avith him, partner of his fortune.
Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish?
Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. And not depending on his friendly wish.
Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish: INluse not that I thus suddenly proceed,^*^ For what I will, I will, and there an end.^^ I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court; Wliat maintenance he from his friends receives. Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.^^ To-morrow be in readiness to go: Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; Please you, deliberate a day or two.
Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee: i^.o more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. — Come on Panthino; you shall be employ 'd
To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Antonio and Panthino.
Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning. And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd: I fear'd 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.^^ O, 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 awayl^^^
Re-enter Panthino.
Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.
Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto; And yet a thousand times it answers, No.
[Exeunt.
flotts la t|t Jfirst %tt
^ My loving Proteus.
" The old copy has — Protheus ; but this is merely the antiquated mode of spelling Proteus. See the Princely Pleasures at Kenelworth Castle, by G. Gascoigne, 1587, where 'Prot/^eus appeared, sitting on a dolphyns back.' Again, in one of Barclay's Eclogues : ' Like as ProtJietis oft chaungeth his stature.' Shakespeare's character was so called, from his disposition to change. Thus in the True Tragedie of Hichard, Duke of Yorke, 1595, on which Shakespeare formed the Third Part of King Henry VI. : 'And for a need change shapes with Protheus.'' Again in Greene's Phdomela : ' Nature foreseeing how men would devise more wiles than Protheus.' Our ancestors seem to have been fond of introducing the letter h into proper names to which it does not belong ; and hence, even to this day, our common christian name Antony is written improperly Anthony. Even scholars shewed the same disregard to propriety in this respect as the unlearned. Thus Sir John Davys, in his fine eulogy on the English law, prefixed to his Eeports, folio 1615 : — 'a greater combustion than that which happened when the chariot of the Sun did want a guide but half a day, as is lively expressed in the fable of Phaethon.' So also Sackville, in the Mirrour for Magistrates : 'And Phaethon now near reaching to his race.' Tubervile, in his Tragical Tales, 1567, has Thunis for Tunis. Lydgate, in like manner, has Thelephus and Anthenor; and in an old translation of the Gesta Romanorum, printed about 1580, we find in p. 1, Athalanta for Atalanta." This note is entirely taken from Steevens and Malone.
^ Home-heeping youth have ever homely wits.
It is for homely features to keep home, They had their name thence. — Milton.
^ Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home. Bully, slothfuUy, with dulness. " "Why stay'st thou dully here." — The Young King, or the Mistake, 1698.
* With shapeless idleness.
" The expression is fine, as implying that idleness prevents the giving any form or character to the manners." — TFarburton.
^ Some rare note-worthy olject in thy travel.
"What can a man better present both to give contentment, and some cure to these false shapes, then this treatise, which having beene collected many yeares
38
NOTES TO THE FIUST ACT.
agoe, and generally received with all the applause and liking due to so witty a speaker, is now, for your better recreation, newly augmented and adorned with many excellent and note-ioortliy essayes of wit. — Copley's Wits, Fits, and Fancies, 1614, pref.
AthenjEus relates in his fore-mentioned booke, in the night did eat up his own wife, and in the morning finding her hands in his devouring jawes, slew himselfe, the fact being so hainous and note-worthy. — Optich Glasse of Humors, 1C39,
For I will he thy head's-man, Valentine.
Beadsman, as Nares observes, from led, a prayer, and from counting the beads, the way used by the Romish church in numbering their prayers ; a prayer- man. Commonly one who prays for another. The office of a headsman is thus expressed by Herrick :
Yet in my depth of grief I'de be
One that should drop his heads for thee.
Also he (Mahomet) hadde, that the men of his lawe sliolde every year, if tliey myghte, goo in too Goddis house, for too hydde thyer hedes. And they sliolde throwe oute stones, through hooles of the walles, as it were for to stone the devyll, and said that Abraham made that house for hys chyldren Ismael}i;es, for they shold there hyd theyer hedes. — Trevisa.
In later times the term meant little more than servant, as we now conclude letters. Many of the ancient petitions and letters to great men were addressed to them by their "poor daily orators and headsmen^ Nicholas Breton in one place signs himself as "Your Laydship's sometime unworthy poet, and now and ever poore Beadman," and the expression was exceedingly usual in the sense of a small pensioner or dependant.
I shal assoille thee myself
Eor a seem of whete,
And also be thi hedeman.
And here wel thi message
Amonges knyghtes and clerkes.
Conscience to torne. — Fiers Floughman, p. 45.
And even by that single bountie dubble stitch him unto mee to be my devoted headsman till death, but not a pinnes head or a moath's pallet roome gets he of anie farther contribution. — Nash's Have loith you to Saffron Walden, 1596. An out-brothership or headsman's stipend of ten shillings a yeare. — Ibid. " Item, to Sir Torche, the Kinges bede-man at the Bodes in Grenewiche for one yere now ended, xl. s." — Privy Fiirse Expences, 1530.
I credit thee so well, that what is mine,
My flocks, lodge, and Vrania, all is thine.
This day I will possesse thee of them, and retire
My weary thoughts from covetous desire
Of this uncertain good, and only spend
My houres in thanks and prayers, that ere my end.
So great a good befell me ; I tell thee, son,
I only be thy headsman, and return
On thee and thine, as payment for my board, unnumbred blessings.
Bahorne's Poor Man's Comfort, 1655.
NOTES TO THE FIRST ACT.
39
Mr. Eairholt selects the annexed engraving in illustration: — "Erom the drawing of the Funeral of Abbot Islip, in Westminster Abbey, 1522. The drawing is elaborately executed on a roll of vellum, and is the property of the Society of Antiquaries of London, who published outline engravings therefrom in their Vetusta Monumenta."
How young Leander cross' d the Hellespont.
The story is again alluded to in the third act; and as Shakespeare has quoted elsewhere a line from Marlowe's poem, the probability is that it was in his thoughts when writing the present comedy. Marlowe's Hero and Leander was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company in September, 1593, but it was not published till 1598, or rather no copy of an earlier date than 1598 is known to exist. There is no improbability in the supposition that the work had been seen by Shakespeare when only in manuscript.
^ Over shoes in love. . . . over hoots in love.
What, Pimpe ? what. Pander ? why was not this the Lord Nonsuch ? did I not see his chaine? nay, prethee, say 'twas not he; nay, sweare it too : over shooes, over hootes, since yee have waded to the bellie in sinne, nay now goe deeper even to the breast and heart. — Cupid'' s Whirligig.
Ev'n so seem'd 1, amidst the guarded troope Of gold-lac'd actors, yet all could not droope My fixed mind, for where true courage roots, The proverb sayes, Once over shooes, o'r hoots.
The Worhes of John Taylor, 1630.
I have met a meanes fit for my purpose already : Mopsa Dameta's onely daughter is over shooes in love with me, and to her lie feigne extreame ardor of affection, and make her the shadow under which He court the true substance of my divine Hippolita. — lie of Gulls, 1633.
I leave them therefore to be fathom'd by this gentlemans plummet. He has been over shoes already, ay, and over boots too. — The Tramproser Mehears'd, or the Fifth Act of Mr. Bayess Play, 12mo, 1673.
^ For you are over boots in love.
"When Proteus says that Leander, who crossed the Hellespont, was more than over shoes in love, Valentine catches him up — ' 'tis true : no doubt of it : he must have been more than over shoes in love ; for you, who never swam the Hellespont at aU, are actually over boots in love.' The reasoning here seems very plain. If Proteus, without swimming the Hellespont, was over hoots in love, surely the very least that could be said of Leander, who did swim it, must be that he was more than over shoes in love." — Blachioood'' s Magazine, Aug. 1853. The Perkins MS. reads hut you 8)'c., one of the numerous instances which indicate that the writer of that annotated volume was some conceited personage who thought himself capable of improving the text, not one having access to any authority.
^° JVay, give me not the boots. A proverbial phrase, equivalent to, do not make a laughing-stock of me. "// luy Va bailie belle, he hath sold him a bargaine, he hath given him the boots, a
40
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
glecke or gudgeon." — Cot grave. "Bailler foin en come, to give one the boots, to sell him a bargaine." — Ibid.
Sil. But what are you for a man? methinks you loke as pleaseth God. Acc. What, doo you give me the hoots ? Half. Whether will they, here be right coblers cuts. — Lillg's Mother Bomhie, 1594.
Did not you say first you would mall us all, and then cald me nit, nit ? 'Tis not your big belly, nor your fat bacon, can cary it away, if ye offer us the boots ? —The Weakest goeth to the Wall, 1618.
Some of the commentators incline to the opinion that there is, in the text, an allusion to the ancient engine of torture termed the hoots, "the Scottish bootes," as it is called in Fathomachia, 1630, p. 29. The passages from Cotgrave, above quoted, seem decisive as to the meaning of the phrase intended to be used by Shakespeare. The equivalent phrase, to sell a bargain, occurs in the third act of Love's Laboiu-'s Lost.
However, hut a folly bought with wit.
In any case, if love be won, it is only a folly purchased at the expense of wisdom ; if it be lost, it is wisdom vanquished by folly.
So, by your circumstance.
There is here a play on the word circumstance. Proteus uses it in the sense of circumstance of ivords, Valentine in that of circumstance of deeds or conduct. " To use great circumstance of woordes, to goe about the bushe." — Barefs Alvearie, 1580. ''Circumstance, a space of time or an argument." — Williams'' Poetical Piety, 1677. "A circumstance, or circuit of words, compasses, or going about the bush." — Minsheu. The fourth chapter in Sir H. Gilbert's Discourse of a Liscoverie for anew Passage to Cataia, 4to, Lond. 1576, is entitled, " To prove, by circumstance, that the Northwest passage hath beene sayled thorough out."
What shaU it nede great circumstance to showe To prove us noble ? you knowe't well enough.
The Newe Metamorphosis, 1600, MS.
Is eaten by the cafiher ere it blow. Canher, a kind of caterpillar. Shakespeare frequently repeats this parallel, as in the following instances collected by Warton. Three times in the Sonnets:
Eor canker vice the sweetest buds doth love. . . . And loathsom canker lives in sweetest bud. . . . Which, like a canker in thy fragrant rose. Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name.
And of a rose again, which had feloniously stolen the boy's complexion and breath, ibid. xcix.
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth, A vengefull canker eat him up to death. Again, Tempest, Act i.
— Something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker.
And in the First Part of Henry VI, Act ii.
Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? And in Hamlet, Act i.
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons are disclos'd.
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
41
And in King Mchard 11. , Act ii.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. And in tlie Eape of Lucrece,
Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? And in A Midsummer Nighfs Dream, the fairies are employed,
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds.
Of Caterpillers, or Palmer TFormes, called of some Canhers. — Now I am come to speake of caterpiUers, sometimes the destroiers and wasters of Egypt : as well in regard of the great difference that is found in their severall sorts, as for their great dignity and use, wherein some of them are most notable and excellent. Some thinke that Eruca, which is Englished a catterpiller, hath his derivation ah erodendo, which is not altogether improbable : for they gnaw of and consume by eating, both leaves, boughes, and flowers : yea, and some fruits also, as I have often scene in peaches. — TopselVs Serpents, 1608.
But as the sweetest rose is soonest subject to canker, and the moth doth soonest breed within the finest cloth, even so abuse is soonest wrought by this, for that it is nearest the truth, which ignorance doth most pollute. — Baret on Horsemansliipi 1618.
Instead of them the caterpillar hants, And canJcer iDorm among the tender plants. That here and there in nooks and corners grew. Of cormorants and locusts not a few.
Browne's Britannia's Pastorals, book ii, song 1.
^* At the road.
A bay or open harbour for ships. Coles translates it by sinus. The word occurs again in Act ii., sc. 4. "A road for ships, spiaggia del mare," Howell.
And thither will I hring thee.
That is, accompany thee ; a common mode of expression. There is a phrase still in use in the North of England, "to bring one going," to bring one on one's way, to accompany a person part of a journey ; and to hring gwain, a West country phrase of similar import. " Courteously and lovingly brought on their way by the Church," marg. note on Acts, xv., 3, fol. ed. 1640, Amst. " 1 pray you, my Lord, to commune with him, whiles I hring my Lord of Durham going,'' Philpot's Examination. " To bring one on his way, deduco," Coles. " She went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse," Woman Killed with Kindness, 1617. "You'll bring me onward, brother," Eevengers Tragsedie, 1608.
Tom asked the man which road he intended to travel ? Nay, said the other, 1 must go back with the horse 1 hired. Quoth Tom, what did you give for the hire of him ? Live shillings, said the man. Well, said Tom, 1 will hring you so far in the way hack, and pay the five shillings. The place appointed being two miles off, he sent for some companions to meet him. — The Mad Pranks of Tom Tram, Son-in-law to Mother Winter, 12mo, n. d.
To Milan let me hear from thee hy letters. That is, let me hear from thee by letters addressed to Milan. A similar ellipsis occurs in the Comedy of Errors, — " to excuse your breach of promise to the Porcupine," that is, to meet me at the Porcupine. The second foho unnecessarily reads, at Milan.
n. 6
42
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
It came to me in letters t\A^o clayes since,
That this Phiine Dcahng serves the Eairy Queene,
And will no more be scene in Babilon.
Decker's Whore of Babylon, 1G07.
/ leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
" The old copy has — I love myself. The correction was made by Mr. Pope. In Antony and Cleopatra, Act V. we have in the old copy — Eor Caisar cannot leave to be ungentle — for live to be ungentle." — Malone.
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
Speed here plays on the words ship and sheep, which were, in Shakespeare's time, pronounced ahke. The orthography ship for sheep occurs several times amongst the records of the Corporation of Stratford-on-Avon, (Chamberlains' Accounts for 1G12, &c.) So the old proverb, "Lose not the sheep for a ha'porth of tar," has been corrupted into, " spoil not the ship for a ha'porth of tar," and is now usually understood in the latter sense. A curious illustration is afforded by
the old token here engraved, which was issued by William Eye at the Sheepe in Rye, 1652, ^^^^^^^^^ the figure of the vessel clearly showing what
^^^^\ ^^^^ ^^8'^^ intended; and in the British
Museum is preserved another token, "J. D. ''^^^p'' in Shepe Yard : his halfepeny : Avithout
Temple Bar," the figure being a ship in full sail. In the will of Agnes Arden, 1579, sheep is spelt sheepe and shipe j and Malone observ^es that in Playford's ' Dancing Master,' ed. 1698, in the table there is the name of a dance, ' Three sheep skins,' while, in the page referred to, it is 'Three ship skins.'
Item, that no man have hys or tlier shyp goynge or pasturynge in the bancroft over and above on oure in a day in peyn of every off'endor to forfet and losse for every fait xij.c?. only excepte straungeres for ther bayt, and that no man have eny swyne goynge ther unryngyd in lyke peyne. — Corporation 3£SS., Stratford upon Avon, 1553.
A hood shall flap up and downe heere, and this ship-sTein cap sliall be put off. — Bechers Satiromastix, 1602, ap. Dyce.
The following curious notices of corrupt pronunciation are taken from Coote's English Schoolemaster, 1632, —
''Mast. I know not what can easily deceive you in writing, unlesse it be by imitating the barbarous speech of your country people, whereof I will give you a tast, thereby to give you an occasion to take heed, not of these only, but of any like. Some people speake thus : The mell standeth on the hel, for the mill standeth on the hill : so knet for knit, bredg for bridg, knaw for gnaw, knat for gnat, belk for belch, yerb for herb, grisse for grasse, yelk for yolk, ream for realme, afeard for afraid, durt for dirt, gurt for girth, stomp for stamp, ship for sheepe, hafe for halfe, sample for example, parfit for perfect, dauter for daughter, certen for certaine, cercher for cerchiefe, leash for lease, hur for her, sur and suster, for sir and sister, to spat for to spit, &c."
" A lac'd mutton.
This was a common cant term for a courtezan, who was also, like a sheep, called a mutton. Speed, in his eagerness to quibble, and remembering his receiving no pay, is not very complimentary. Mr. Knight remarks that the designation is received by Proteus very patiently, and seems to doubt its meaning
NOTES TO THE EIUST ACT.
43
in the above sense; but the whole scene tends to exhibit Proteus as a mere sensual lover, one bandying coarse allusions. We meet with nothing of the kind in the subsequent dialogue between Valentine and Speed. The following curious lines in the WorJees qf John Taylor the Water-Poet, fol. 1630, afford a good illustration of the quibbling in the text :
And heere's a mystery profound and deepe, There's sundry sorts of mutton are no sheepe: Lac'd Mutton which let out themselves to hire, Like hackneys, who'l be fir'd, before they tire. The man or men which for such mutton hungers, Are (by their Corporation) mutton-mongers : Which is a brother-hood so large and great, That if they had a Hall, I would intreat To be their Clarke, or keeper of accounts, To shew them unto what their charge amounts : My braines in numbring then would grow so quicke, I should be Master of Arithmeticke : All states, degrees, and trades, both bad and good.
Afford some members of this Brotherhood
Too much of one thing's good for nought (they say) He therefore take this needlesse dish away: Eor should I too much of Lac'd Mutton write, I may o'recome my readers stomacke quite.
"Laced mutton, garse, putain, fitle de joye; a mutton-monger, putier,''' Sherwood's Dictionarie, 1632. "Laced mutton, scortum,^' Coles. "Why, here is good lacd mutton, as I promist you," Shoo-makers Holy-day, 1631. "And I smealt he loved lase mutton well," Promos and Cassandra, 1578.
He that wold not stick so to extoU stale rotten lac'd mutton, will, like a true Millanoys, sucke figges out of an asses fundament, or doo anie thing. — Nash's Have with you to Saffron Walden-, 1596.
Laz. Pilcher, Cupid hath got me a stomacke, and I long for lac^d mutton. Pit. Plaine mutton without a lace would serve. — Blurt Master Constable, 1602.
A fine lac'd mutton.
Or two ; and either has her frisking husband:
Tiiat reades her the Corranto every weeke. — Ben Jonson.
Marquess of melanchoUy and mad folkes. Grand Signior of griefs and groans, Lord of lamentations, Heroe of hie-hoes. Admiral of aymees, and Monsieur of mutton-lac'd. — Heyicood's Love's Mistress, 1640.
But pray, Ciceley, withall, neglect not my breakfast. Rising early and walking gets us good stomacks : yet I could be content to fast with such lacd mutton and a good cuUice more then halfe a morning. — Totenham- Court, 1638.
And what d'ye think is aU their gains. But . . . and labour for their pains ; Better of pig to be a glutton. Than thus to feed upon Lacd Mutton.
Poor Bohins Ahnanacic, 1694^.
Several other allusions to laced-mutton occur in Poor Bobin. " Those who with lac'd mutton trade," 1707; "married men that thus run after lac'd mutton," 1746, &c.
"Speed calls himself a lost mutton, because he had lost his master, and
NOTES TO THE ElllST ACT.
because Protlieus had been proving him a sheep. !But why does he call the lady a lac'd nuitton? Wenchers are to this day called nuitton-mongcrs; and consequently the object of their i)assion must, by the meta})hor, be tiie nuitton ; and Motteux has rendered this passage of llabelais, in the prologue of his fourth book, Cailles coiphees m'u]nonnement cJiautarts, in this manner ; Coated quails and lac'd nuitton waggisliUj shujingr — Theobald.
"A laced mutton was in our author's time so established a term for a courtezan, that a street in Clerkenwell, which was much frequented by women of the town, was then called Mutton-lane. It seems to have been a phrase of the same kind as the Erench expression — caille coifee, and might be rendered in that language, mouton en corset. This appellation appears to have been as old as the time of King Henry HI. " Item sequitur gravis poena corporalis, sed sine amissione vitte vel membrorum, si raptiis fit de concuhina legitima, vel alia quastum faciente, sine delectu personarum: has quidem oves debet rex tueri pro pace sua," Bracton de Legibus, lib. ii. — Malone. Mutton Lane is mentioned, with other streets of questionable character, in A New Trich to cheat the Devil, 1639.
Search all the alleys. Spittle or Pickthatch,
Turnbull, the Bank-side, or the Minories,
White Eriars, St. Peter's Street, and Mutton Lane.
In illustration of the probable circumstance that the term laced, in this
phrase, took its origin from dress, Mr. Eairholt has selected the accompanying engraving. "It is taken," he observes, " from the print by Israel Van Mechlin (circa 1500), known as the Herodiade, and detailing the principal incidents in the life of Herodias ; whose character was generally represented by mediseval sculptors and artists as immodest and vicious. She is here delineated in a loose dress, laced down the front, but not drawn close ; in the original print she is dancing with a man, who places his arm round her waist, and is habited in the style of a prodigal of the period." Deloney, in his Thomas of Reading, writes, "no meat pleased him so well as mutton, such as was laced in a red petticoat."
Tou are a- sir ay.
A quibble, depending on the adjective astray being taken also as a sub- stantive. A stray animal was called a stray. "Item, That non shall knowe, take uppe, or dryve away, anie waiefe or stray, or any thing that shall grow due, or be forfeited to her highness, or anye wrecke within this lordshipp, but shaU give knowledge thereof to the steward, or his deputye there, or the baihfFe of the libertyes of Eournes for the time beinge, within as short tyme as may convainiently be given, as hearetofore liathe been accustomed, sub pena iij.s. \\\].d." — 3£S. Court Boll.
21 iPfom a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over.
This is the punctuation of the first folio, but doubts may perhaps be entertained as to its correctness. The quibble on the term pin-fold is expansive, even for Speed.
NOTES TO THE EIUST ACT.
45
22 She did.
I have ventured to introduce this and the next line, spoken by Proteus, in preference to Theobald's alteration. Some addition to the text is absolutely- necessary, and Theobald's does not agree with what Speed says afterwards, — "You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : and you ask me if she did nod ; and I say, I." Eeed cites a similar play upon words from Wits Private Weattli, 1612, — " if you see a truU scarce, give her a nod, but follow her not, lest you prove a noddy " and Minsheu quaintly observes that the term is applied to a fool, " because he nods when hee should speake." There is no allusion in the text to the game of cards called noddy, but solely to the ordinary meaning of the word, a simpleton. "A foolish feUow, a noddie, a guU," Minsheu's Spanish Dictionarie, 1599, p. 55; and in Damon and Pythias, 1571, "The king delighted in me; now 1 am but a noddy."
Next, in the ancient famous Cambrian tongue, To call thee noddy, he accounts no wrong. T' interpret this I need to goe to schoole, I wot not what he meanes, except a ( ).
TForhes of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630.
It is scarcely necessary to observe that, in Speed's speech, the / is preserved instead of changing it to the modern ay, on account of the quibble.
2^ No, not so much as a ducat.
" The ducats current in Yerona and Milan at this period were the Venetian coinage, and they wiU be more appropriately described and engraved in the Merchant of Yenice." — F. W. Fairholt.
2* In telling your mind.
That is, as hard to you when you tell your mind to her, i. e. address her. The second folio unnecessarily reads, her mind, and Perkins and Jackson, you her mind, the former also reading, "that brought to her your mind," and thus clumsily making verse of it, —
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her letter. No, not so much as ducat for delivering your letter ; And being so hard to me that brought to her your mind, I fear she '11 prove as hard to you in teUing you her mind.
There have been few things in Shakespearian criticism so extraordinary, as the infatuation which has prompted one of the editors to print such stuff as this for the restored language of Shakespeare.
2^ / thanh yoti, you have testervCd me.
Testern, corrupted from teston, was, in Shakespeare's time and for long afterwards, merely the name of the sixpence. After the decease of Queen Mary, observes Harrison, "the ladie Elizabeth, hir sister, and now our most gratious queene, sovereigne and princesse, did finish the matter wholie, utterly abolishing the use of copper and brasen coine, and converting the same into guns and great ordinance, she restored sundrie coines of fine silver, as peeces of halfepenie farding, of a penie, of three halfe pence, peeces of two pence, of three pence, of foure pence called the groat, of six pence usiiallie named the testone, and shilling of twelve pence, whereon she hath imprinted hir owne image and emphaticall superscription." Camden, in his Eemaines, ed.
46
NOTES TO THE EIRST ACT.
1G29, p. 175, mentioning the base coinage of the time of Henry and Edward, observes "that some of them, which was then called testons, because the King's head was thereon figured, contained but twopence farthing in silver, and other fourpence halfe-penny;" and, according to Holme, Acad. Arm. iii. 2, p. 28, "A sixpence or tester answereththe King's fourpence in all respects, having this mark vi. or a rose ; if it have neither, it is a half faced groat, and goeth for no more ; it is an inch in diameter." The following account of this coin is also worth quoting: — "'Testons, or, as we commonly call them, testers, from a head that was upon them, were coin'd 34 H. 8. Sir H. Spelman says they are a French coin, of the value of 186?., and he does not know but they might have gone for as much in England. He says it was brass, and covered over with silver, and went in H. 8 days for \2id., but 1 Ed. 6 it was brought down to Oc?., and then to Qcl., which still retains the name, and in an. 1559 to 4c?. ob. Stow says there was a second sort of testons, which in 1559 was cried down to 2d. q., and a third sort that was made unpassable at any rate. 'Tis certain there were very good ones coined in E. 6 time, and they have still continued under all princes, under the same name, and are the usefuUest pieces we have." — Clironicon Preciosnm, 1707. It appears certain that the tester of Shakespeare was the sixpence, and that, although it varied in value at an earlier period, it was often considered, even in the middle of the sixteenth century, as synonymous with it. The following observations on the original teston are from the pen of My. Eairholt :
" The most remarkable of the continental coins, after the series of the German emperors, were those of the independant Dukes of Milan. Eor many centuries the general coinage of Europe presented only a series of crosses, badges of cities, or emblematic figures; and it was not tiU the latter half of the fifteenth century that any attempt was made at portraiture on money; an unmeaning full face being used continually as the type of every ruler. The first successful attempt at change was made by the Duke whose coin is here engraved, and who reigned from 1466 to 1476, when he was murdered. It is of silver, having on the obverse his portrait with this legend abbreviated —
GALEAZVS MAEIA STORTZIA VICECOMES DVX MEDIOLANI
and on the reverse the family arms, and the inscription, also abbreviated,
PAPI^ ANGIEBiEQUE COMES AC JANV^ DOMINVS,
the characteristic feature of these coins being the head of the ruler, they at once received the generic title of testone. They were immediately imitated in Erance and England. Louis XII. introducing his portrait in profile ; and the coin re- ceiving the name of testons, or great heads. Henry VIL introduced the custom to England in the year 1503, when he issued an entire new coinage. This head being like its prototype represented in profile ; the original name for the coin being anglicized into testoon and testern. Erom this period the coinage has always borne the head of the Sovereign."
The first folio reads cestern'd, corrected in the second folio of 1633. Latimer, in one of his sermons, speaks of the teston being w^orth tenpence, which is.
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
47.
however, merely a proof that its value was subject to fluctuation. According to Machyn, in his diary for the year 1556 : — " The xxiij. day of Desember was a proclamasyou thrugh London, and shall be thrugh the quen('s) reuym, tliat watt man somover thay be that doysse forsake testorns, and do not take them for y].d. a pesse for corne or vetelles or any odur thynges or ware, that they to be taken and browth a-for the mayre or shreyff, baylle, Justus a pesse, or constabuUe, or odur offesers, and thay to ley them in presun tyll the quen and her conseil, and thay to remayn ther plesur, and to stand boyth body and goodes at her grace('s) plesur." — In proclamations of the early part of Edward VL's reign, these coins are described as " pi.-ces of xi].d. commonly called testons," so that Spelman is probably mistaken in asserting they were reduced in value as early as 1547-8.
The assertion of Stowe respecting the inferior testons will be well illustrated by the following extract from a proclamation of Queen Elizabeth, dated December 23rd, 1560 : — "The Queues majestic beying infourmed that, in some partes of her realme, sundrye either ignoraunt or malicious people doe spread rumours abroad, that the base testons of foure pence halfepeny should not be currant after the end of January next : hath thought meet (lest the lyke false and seditious rumours might be further spread), to doe allmaner her subjectes to understand, that it hath beene alwayes and so is meant by her majestic, that all maner the base monyes, which hath ben of late decreed by proclamacion, saving the testons of twopence farthyng, shoulde continue and be currant stiU, and so taken and paid from subjecte to subjecte, at the values as they be rated by former proclamacion, and so to continue untill the same may be by her majesties subjectes brought to the mint at London, and there exchaunged for new sterlynge monyes, with thallowance to the brynger of three pence in the pound. Wherin such expedition is made, as in a matter of such a moment, possyble hytherto could be, and shall be noAve from day to day much more. And as for the peeces of two pence farthing, it is and was meant and declared in the proclamacion, that they shoulde be taken as currant money untyll the last day of January, that day beying the ende of foure monethes from Michaelmas laste. And yet neverthelesse, because within that tyme it shall be harde to bryng up and make exchaunge of the same in the mynt with newe monyes: her majestic is well pleased, that whosoever shall brynge anye of the same testons of two pence farthyng after the saide last day of January to the sayde mint at London, within the space of three moneths after, shall have for the same in newe sylver two pence farthing : so as her majestic meaneth, as much as in her shaU be, to beare herein with the burden of her poore subjects. And her pleasure is, that this shoulde be notified to all her loving subjectes: gevyng also straight commandement that no maner person doe refuse to take in paiment any of the said base monyes, that is to say the fourepence halpeny, the threhalf- pence, the threfarthings, at the values rated by the former proclamation, at any time hereafter : neither the other base testons of twopence farthing at the same rate, untill the laste day of January ; and in anye wyse to cause all persons doying the contrary, to be severely punished as obstinate and sedicious."
Being destind to a drier death on shore.
This proverb is alluded to three times in the Tempest. "He that is born to be hang'd, shall never be drown'd." — Bays English Broverls, ed. 1678, p. 104.
It wanted but little that he and his horse had been lost, not so much by the depth of the water, as the fury of the current ; but he had a proverb in his favour, and he got out of the water, though with difficulty enough, not being born to be drowned, as I shall observe afterwards in its place. — History of Colonel Jach, 1723.
48
NOTES TO THE EIKST ACT.
" Sttch a loortliless post.
A post was a messenger, generally one who carried a letter, a postman before post-ollices were established. — "Item, the xxvij. daye, paied to a post that came fro Venice, by way of rewarde, xx.s." — Privy Furse Ewpences, 1530.
"What though such post cannot ride post
TwLxt Exceter and this In two months space, yet careless they
Those ten whole months to mis. — Ballads, MS. temp. James I.
That every day idUJi parte encounter me.
Here ceast the parte of all the gods assembled. Then mightie Jove rose from his golden throne. By all the gods to's station tended on.
Virgil, translated hy John Vicars, 1632.
Sir Eglamour . . . he never should he mine. This name is possibly adopted from the old English metrical romance of Eglamour of Artoys, early MS. copies of which are preserved in MS. Cantab. Ef. ii. 38, MS. Cott. Calig. A. ii, and in the Percy MS. A single leaf of another early copy is preserved in a MS. belonging to the Earl of EUesmere. It was printed at Edinburgh, in 1508, by Walter Chepman, and subsequently at London by Copland and Walley; and the name of the hero seems afterwards to have passed into a proverbial appellation for an insignificant wooer. So, in Decker's Sutiromastix, — "Adieu, Sir Eglamour; adieu, lute-string, curtain-rod, goose- quiU." Most readers will recollect the celebrated ballad, " Sir Eglamore, that valiant Knight," so often reprinted in the seventeenth century. A copy in the Merry Drollerie commences as foUows :
Sir Eglamore, that valiant Knight, fa, la, la, la, la. He put on his sword, and he went to fight, fa, la, And as he rid o'r hill and dale, All armed, and in his coat of maile, Ea, la, la, la, fa, la, la, lalla la.
There starts a huge dragon out of his den, fa, la, Which had kill'd I know not how many men, fa, la. But when he see Sir Eglamore,
If you had but heard how the Dragon did roar, fa, la, la, &c.
This dragon he had a plaguy hard hide, fa, la, la, Which could the strongest steU abide, fa, la, la. He could not enter him with cuts. Which vex'd the Knight to his heart bloud, &c.
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
Censure, to remark or pass an opinion upon ; a very common use of the word. "Nolo, to note, observe, mark, distinguish, censure,"— Coles. Pope reads, a lovely gentleman; and Perkins, a loving gentleman. Lucetta observes she is to blame for passing an opinion on such worthy gentlemen. She has given none on Proteus, and therefore Julia's next observation. There is surely no necessity for disturbing the original text, and the two emendators above named have clearly misunderstood the context.
Jjorely is of course equivalent to, worthy of love, amiable. "Lovely or amiable." — Minsheu. " Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
49
lives," 2 Sam. i. 23. The tendency of the MS. corrector to change lovely into loving here and elsewhere, is one proof among many that might be adduced of his belonging to a comparatively recent period of criticism, I should say not earlier than quite the end of the seventeenth or the commencement of the eighteenth century.
Wliy, iie of all the rest hath never mov'd me.
Mov'd, solicited. "A soliciting, inciting, or moving of one to do a thing," Baret's Alvearie, 1580. "To move, solicit, solicito." — Coles.
Wow, hy my modesty, a goodly broJcer!
Broher, a pander or go-between. See Gawin Douglas gl. Yirgil; King John; Troilus and Cressida; Lover's Complaint, "vows are ever brokers to defiling," compared with Hamlet, act i; Beaumont and Eletcher's Valentinian, ed. Dyce, v. 235 ; "And flie, o flie, these bed-brokers unclean," Daniel's Complaint of Eosamond, 1599. There are twelve very coarse lines in LooJce to It, for He stable ye, 1604, entitled, "filthy pander," which commence as foUows:
You scurvie fellow, in the broker's suite, A sattin doublet fac'd with grease and ale. That of the art of bawdry canst dispute, &c.
Since maids, in modesty, say ^No,^ to that. A paraphrase of the old proverb, " maids say nay and take," which is given in Bay's collection, ed. 1678, p. 172. "Good stomaches are soon invited; we had scarce the maydes manners to say nay and take it, but to take before we say nay," Bowley's Search for Money, 1609. "Play the maid's part, stiU answer nay, and take it," Eichard 111., act iii.
Angerly.
The old adverb for angrily. It occurs again in Macbeth, and King John. "Angrely, acerhe," Huloet's Abcedarium, 1552. "Angerly, irate, iracmide," Baret's Alvearie, 1580. "Angerly, in colera,'' HoweU's Lex. Tet. 1660.
Stomach.
Passion or ill-temper. Lucetta plays upon the double meaning of the word. It is also used for appetite.
Toole up so gingerly. "In the North of England it implies, gently, carefuUy, without agitation. I once heard a lady tell her daughter to bring a bottle of wine, and to bring it gingerly, meaning, without agitation." — Dr. Sherwen. The use of the word in this sense is almost too universal to warrant its being termed a provincialism ; but it is very nearly obsolete.
As little by such toys. Julia plays on the two meanings of the word set, Lucetta having used it in the musical sense, Julia taking it up, and adding the preposition by. To set by, to make account of. " David behaved himself more wisely than all, so that he was much set by," Samuel, xviii. 30. " Eor connynge they set not by," Interlude of the Eour Elements. So, in an early ballad, —
Eor in this vaine world, which now we live in. Is nothinge but miserie, sorrowe, and sinne, Temptation, untruth, contention, and strife, And riches alone make us set by this life.
50
NOTES TO THE FIRST ACT.
"]\ronoy is every wliere much set by, pliirimi passim fit pecnnia.'" — JFalher on EN(/Iish l\irticJes, ed. 1003, p. 80. "Do you set so little by me? Itaue abs te contemnor? — Ter. I set the more by him, Eluris eum feci, quod. — Cic. Fam. I set nuich by it, In magno pretio habeo. — Sen. Ep. In former times it was much set ])y, Apud antiquos in pretio fuit. — Macroh. Sat. They set nothing by it, Pro nihilo (hicuiit. — Cic. Off. NiliiH, parvi, a)stimant, faciunt, habent, pcndunt. I set nought by them, Ingrata ea habui, atque irrita. — Plant. AmpJi. lie sets too nuicli by himself, Sibi nimium tribuit. — Quint. I shall set much by j our letters, Magni erunt mihi tufc litera;. — Cic. Fam. To set light by, Susque deque habere. — Plant. Ampli^ — Idiomatologia Anglo-Latina, 1670.
Best sing it to the tune of Light 6* love.
Observations on this popular old tune will be found in the notes to 3Iuch Ado about Nothing.
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant. " The name of descant is usurped of the musicians in divers significations : sometime they take it for tlie whole harnionie of many voyces : others sometime for one of the voyces or parts : and that is, when the whole song is not passing three voyces : last of all, they take it for singing a part extempore upon a plaine song, in which sense wee commonly use it ; so that when a man talketh of a descanter, it must be understoode of one that can, extempore, sing a part upon a plaine song. — Phi. AVhat is the meane to sing upon a plaine song ? — Ma. To knowe the distances, both concords and discords. — Phi. What is a concord? — Ma. It is a mixt sound compact of divers voyces, entring with delight in the eare." — Morleys Plaine and Easie Introduction onto Practicall MusicliC, 1608. " Descant," observes Malone, " signified formerly what we now denominate variations" —
O what a world of descant makes my soul Upon the voluntary ground of love !
"Eerst for the sithgt of descaunt, it is to wete, as it is aforseide, that ther be nine acordis of descant, scilicet, a unisoun, a 3de, a 5te, a 6te, a 8te, a lOe, a 12e, a 13e, a 15e. Of the wheche nine acordis ther be five perfite and four inperfite. The 5 perfite be these, the unisoun, the 5, the 8, the 12, and the 15. Of these 5 perfite, ther be 3 ful perfite, and 2° les perfite. The 3 ful perfite be the unisoun, the 8, and the 15. The 2" lasse perfite be the 5te and the 12e. The 4 inperfite be these, the 3de, the 6, the 10, and the 13. And with these acordis of descaunt, every descanter may ryse in voyse and falle with the plain song excepte out of one perfite into another bothe of one kynde, as it is afor rehersid." MS. on Music, of the fifteenth century.
''Accino, to synge to an instrument, or to synge a parte, as a treble to a tenour, or a descant to a playne songe." — Eliotes Dictionarie, ed. Cooper, 1559. Blount defines descant, "to run division or variety with the voice upon a musical ground in true measure; to sing off of a ground." — Glossographia, 1681.
Learning may as wel counseU where money doeth want, But riches causeth tlie common sort to esteem counsell best ; Eor if a rich man, weU apparelled, have a fine tonge to descant, He shall be taken for learned, though he know never a letter.
Luptons Comedie intituled All for Money , 1578. ^ There icanteth hut a mean to fill your song. The tenor in music. "Meane, a parte of a songe, moyen'' Palsgrave. According to Blount, " an inner part between the treble and base." — Glossographia, ed. 1681, p. 404.
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
51
Thi organys so hihe begynne to syng tlier messe, With treble meene and tenor discordyng as I gesse.
Lydgate's Minor Poems, p. 54.
TJtilitie can sing the base full cleane, And noble honour shall sing the meane.
Life and Bepentaunce of Marie Magdalene, 1567.
In the next line, the first folio reads, by an oversight, toith you unruly base.
Indeed, I hid the base for Proteus.
That is, I challenged you on behalf of Proteus. The phrase is taken from the old game of prison's-base, or barrs, so called from the bars surrounding the ground where it was played. One of the earliest allusions to this game is found in the legend of St. Gregory, MS. Cotton. Cleop. D. ix, repeated, with a few variations, in a copy in the Auchinlech MS. at Edinburgh:
Gregorye can ful wel his pars. He can ful muche also of lawe. And muchel understonde of ars ; He wende in a day to plawe, The children ournen at the lars; A cours he toke with a felawe, Gregorie the swiftere was. After hym he leop pas wel gode. With honden seyseth him with skept ; That other was unblithe of mode : Eor tene of herte sore he wept, And ran home as he were wode.
It is very curious to compare this notice with the following account of the game given by Strutt : — " The performance of this pastime requires two parties of equal number, each of them having a hase or home, as it is usually called, to them- selves, at the distance of about twenty or thirty yards. The players then on either side taking hold of hands, extend themselves in length, and opposite to each other, as far as they conveniently can, always remembering that one of them must touch the hase; when any one of them quits the hand of his fellow and runs into the field, which is called giving the chace, he is immediately followed by one of his opponents ; he again is followed by a second from the former side and he by a second opponent, and so alternately, tiU as many are out as choose to run, every one pursuing the man he first followed, and no other, and if he overtake him near enough to touch him, his party claim one towards their game, and both return home. They then run forth again in like manner, until the number is completed, which decides the victory; this number is optional, and I am told rarely exceeds twenty. It is to be observed that every person on either side who touches another during the chace, claims one for his party, and when many are out, it frequently happens that many are touched." This author adds that the earliest allusion to the game he had met with occurs in a proclamation, temp. Edw. Ill, where it is spoken of as a childish amusement, and prohibited to be played in the avenues of the palace at Westminster. The following notice is cited by Charpentier, "En laqueUe place devoit avoir unes barres, done ledit Jaquot estoit roy pour le jour: et pour ce avoit lors assemble pluseurs gens et de pluseurs villes pour veoir les dittes barres." — Lit. remiss, ami. 1400 in Beg. 155. Cartoph. reg. cli. 54.
"Bace pleye, harms, harri, harrorum, dantur ludi puerorum,'' Prompt. Parv. Barri: ludus puerorum. A pley to the harry s.'' — Ortus Vocah.
52
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
Wlioii miistrcd all (licy had, and all the field liad compast round,
And viewd Anchises tonibc, Ihey joj ned all on equall ground ;
Ei)itides to them with noise and whi])})ing gave a sound.
They coursing brake their bands, and three from three dissevered all,
By matches hallc from haU'e, and fast againe they turne at call,
T\'ith weapons breast to breast, and compasse round returning met,
By coursings bickring brave, and race with race entangling let,
Invading skirmish wise, and like the face of battel fight.
And now retire they done, now shew their backs in signe of flight,
Now turning throw their darts, now truce they make with hand in hand ;
Like Labirinthus maze, that men reeport in Candy land.
Is compast deepe in ground with sundry wals, and crookings blinde,
And thousand wandring waies, and entries false for men to finde,
Where tokens none there be, nor scape can none that steps astray,
Such turnings them beguiles, and so deceitful is their way.
None otherwise, the Trojan youth by coursings round about.
Disporting chase themselves, and windings weave both in and out.
Like Dolphin fishes light, that for their pastime daunsing swim,
In mids of deepest seas, and play themselves on water brim.
This kinde of pastime first, and custome boyes to learne at Base;
Ascanius when Alba wals he made did bring in place,
And taught the Latines old, in solemne sort to use the same.
As he sometime a childe, with Trojan youth had made that game.
The Albans then from thence with practise like their children taught.
And thence hath peerlesse Rome, and most of might, the custome caught.
And for their comitries love, with honor due this day it stands.
And yet the name remaines of Trojan boyes, and Trojan bands.
Phaers translation of Virgil, 4jto. Lond. 1600.
" How play of Base came up," marg. note, ibid. Dr. Caius, in his BoJce or Counseill against the disease commonly called the Sweate, 1553, mentions "skirmislie at base" as "an exercise for a gentlemanne muche used among the Italianes." Other notices of the game wiU be found in the notes to the fifth act of Cymheline.
Sometimes the game itself was called lidding of base. " We have had here a winter war (as you will have heard) not much unlike our English boy's play of bidding of base; for when Count Henry Vomdenberg having crossed the Yssell into the Yelnure, he retired to his passage, and there stopt." — Letter dated 1624. In Lincolnshire, and some other counties, the sport is occasionally called biddy-base or biUy-base ; and Kennett, MS. Lansd. 1033, speaks of bitty-base as the Yorkshire term for the game. Compare, also, Spenser :
Whylome thou wont the shepheard's handes to lead In rimes, in riddles, and in bidding base.
Hence the metaphorical meaning of bidding the base, as above mentioned. Malone cites the following from Hall's Chronicle, fol. 98 : "The Queen marched from York to Wakefield, and bade base to the Duke even before his castle." Again, in a letter from Lord Henry Howard to James King of Scotland, "It were a vain part for him to contend alone, or to bid base foolishly." So, also, Milton, — "I do not intend this hot season to bid you the base, through the wide and dusty champaign of the councils ;" and Shakespeare himself in the following lines in Venus and Adonis, —
To bid the wind a base he now prepares.
And wh'er he run, or fly, they knew not whether.
NOTES TO THE FIRST ACT.
53
Compare, also, Spenser, —
Ne was Satyrane lier far behind, But with hke fierceness did ensue the chace: Whom when the giant saw, he soon resign'd His former suit, and from them fled apace ; They after both, and boldly had him base.
She makes it strange. That is, she puts on an appearance of coldness or indifference respecting it. " Strange, — Coles.
To feed on such sweet honey, and Mil the hees.
" The wasp is much more hurtful than the hornet, for the hornet nou and then killeth a bee, but the wasp wasteth the hoonni, wherby many whole stalls doo perish. Eor besides the harm that shee dooeth liirself, shee oft times setteth the robber on woork ; who when the wasp hath begun, wil bee reddy to take part with her : and then all goes to wrak. A wasp is by nature stronger than a bee, specially in Libra : insomuch that oft times shee breaketh from two or three of them, thowgh they have all holde of her at once : and perhaps killeth one of them out of hand. At Cancer, or the Spring beeing hot and drye in the later part of the former moontli, the wasp beginneth to bee bred : within a moonth after, shee first appeereth, and in a while, shee beginneth to feede upon ded and weak bees, which shee qikly cutting of in the middle with hir fangs, first carryeth away the nether part, and anon fetclieth the other, when shee hath bitten of the wings (for easier carriage) not far from the place where shee tooke it up. Within a moonth after hir cooming abroad, shee waxeth bolde, and adventureth into the hives for hoonni : but, by reason of the strangenes of hir voice and habit, shee is descryed before shee coom neere. And at the first, while the wether is warm, and the beees bothe early and late keepe watch and ward at the hive doore, cooming single against many, shee is commonly repulsed and sent bak agin with a flea in hir ear : and if by chance shee slip in, shee dooeth not always escape. Soomtime shee is killed in the hive, and browght foorthe ded : soomtime without the doore, when shee hath got hir prey. But afterwards the wether waxing colde, (and specially in mornings and eevnings) and the beees therefore retiring from the doore higher into the hive ; the wasps make great spoyl : specially among them that ar weak. And this they continue until Scorpio : after which time they begin to wear. Nevertheles, while they liv, that is, until Sagittarius (if abundance of colde and wet rid them not a little rather) they will bee filching, and one wasp wil carry out as much as two beees bring in," — Butler's Feminine Monarchie, or the Histori of Bees, 1634.
^ My bosom, as a bed, shall lodge thee. Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast. — V. A.
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
It may be just worth notice that search is here used in the surgical sense, to probe a wound. " To search wounds, specillo tentare vnlnus.'" — Coles.
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
That is, lest they should catch cold. So in the fifty-second sonnet, /or blunting, i. e. for fear of blunting. " So, in an ancient ' Dialogue both pleasaunte and pro- fitable,' by Willyam Bulleyn, 1564 : ' My horse starteth, and had like to have unsaddled me ; let me sit iaster, for falling.' Again, in Plutarch's Life of Antony, translated by Sir Thomas North : ' So he was let in, and brought to her muffled as he was, for being known,' i. e. for fear of being known. Again, in Pecle's King
54
NOTES TO THE FIRST ACT.
Edward I., 1593: 'Hold up your torches for dripping.' Again, in Love's Pil- grimage, ' Stir my horse, /o/- catcliing cold.' Again, in Barnabie Riche's ' Soldier's AVishe to Britons Welfare, or Captaine Skill and Captainc Pill,' IGOl, p. 64 : ' Such other ill-disposed persons, being once press'd, must be kept with continual guard, &:c., /();' running away.'" — Steevcns. The expression itself also occurs in Lilly's Euphucs, 1581, " if he were too long for the bed, Procrustes cut off his legs for catching cold."
I see yon liate a montlis mind to them.
That is, a strong inclination for them. This phrase, which was proverbial, and is still in provincial use, does not appear to have the slightest connexion with the ancient monthly remembrances of the dead, which were so called ; although Peck attempts the following unsatisfactory explanation — "By saying they have a month's mind to it, they anciently must undoubtedly mean that, if they had what they so much longed for, it would (hyperbolically speaking) do them as much good (they thought) as they believed a month's mind, or service said once a month (could they afford to have it), would benefit their souls after their decease."
These verses Eupliues sent also under his glasse, which having finished, he gave himselfe to his booke, determining to end his life in Athens, although he had a moneths minde to England : who at all times, and in all companies, was no niggard of his good speech to that nation, as one willing to live in that Court, and wedded to the manners of that country. — Lilly s Eiiphues and his England, 1623.
Tyn. Steel'd impudence !
Wliat fruit can I expect the bough should bear That grows from such a stock ? Dip. I had of late A moneths mind, sir to you ; Y' ave the right make To please a lady. — Randolph's Jealous Lovers, 1646.
Hark you, couzens mine ; if in this Persian war you chance to take a handsome she captive, pray you be not unmindfuU of us your friends at home ; I will disburse her ransome, couzens, for I've a months mind to try if strange flesh, or that of our own countrey, has the compleater relish. — Chapman's Revenge for Honour, 1654.
Eor look ye, suppose a man shu'd have a minde unto her. Pol. A minde, what minde ? Pam. Why, a moneths minde or so. Pol. Why then, after a moneth you may be rid oft. Pam. I hope, sir, you do not mock me ?
Flechioes Love's Kingdom, 12mo. 1664.
Eor by his troth he swore, and all the troths he could swear by, that for this whole year he had had a months mind to me, and do what I could I could not be rid of him, before I did teU him that I could love him, and so indeed I could if I had known him, for he was a handsome fellow: but being a stranger, he should pardon me for the main chance. — NeiD Art of Enditing Epistles, n. d.
In short, Pedro, you have a month's mind to measure lengths with Madam Mariana, and you, Antonio, have as much to a day to try how things will fit with brisk Ismena. Come, confess, confess ; I see plainly by your solemn pace and grave contriving looks, you have been running over all the stories in romances to accomplish your designs. — The Reformation, 4to. 1673.
Eor when maids (to gratify their avaricious parents) are forc'd to marry, where they would not, it makes them have a month's mind to another j^lace. But a good breakfast to a hungry man is better than a kiss of the fairest lady in the whole universe. — Poor Rohin, 1741.
NOTES TO THE EIEST ACT.
55
PuntJiino.
" In the enumeration of characters in the old copy, this attendant on Antonio is called FantJiion, but in the play always Fanthiuo.'" — Steevens.
*^ What sad talk was that.
Sad, grave, serious. " So sad and so demure," Phyllyp Sparowe. " The king feigneth to talk sadhj with some of his counsel," Promos and Cassandra, 1578. " Marry, sir Knight, I saw them in sad talke, but to say they were directly whispering I am not able." — Wise Woman of Ilogsdon, 1638.
He set hym up, and sawe their biside
A sad man, in whom is no pride.
Right a discrete confessour, as 1 trow.
His name was called Sir John Doclow. — MS. Batol. C. 86.
Of slender reputation. That is, as Steevens observes, who are thought slightly of, are of little con- eequence.
Some, to discover islands far away. To discover, not necessarily to make what we now should call a discovery, but merely to voyage to for the sake of obtaining information. Every voyage was termed a discovery. Thus Taylor, the Water-Poet, gives an account of a "Dis- covery by sea from London to Salisbury," and Jourdain's pamphlet on the Bermudas is also called a discovery. Hariot is mentioned by Grenvile, 1590, as being "servant to Sir Walter Ealeigh, a member of the colony, and there employed in discovering."
The following observations by Malone, who fancied that these lines were evi- dences in the question of the chronology of the play, may be worth adding : — " Shakspeare, as has been often observed, gives to almost every country the manners of his own : and though the speaker is here a Veronese, the poet, when he wrote the last two lines, was thinking of England ; where voyages for the pur- pose of discovering islands far aicay were at this time much prosecuted. In 1595, Sir Walter Raleigh undertook a voyage to the island of Trinidado, from which he made an expedition up the river Oronoque, to discover Guiana. Sir Humphry Gilbert had gone on a similar voyage of discovery the preceding year. The par- ticular situation of England in 1595 I had supposed might have suggested the line above quoted. In that year it was generally believed that the Spaniards meditated a second invasion of England, with a much more powerful and better appointed Armada than that which had been defeated in 1588. Soldiers were levied with great diligence, and placed on the sea-coasts, and two great fleets were equipped ; one to encounter the enemy in the British seas ; the other to sail to the West Indies, under the command of Hawkins and Drake, to attack the Spaniards in their own territories. About the same time also Elizabeth sent a considerable body of troops to the assistance of King Henry IV. of Erance, who had entered into an offensive and defensive alliance with the English Queen, and had newly declared war against Spain. Our author, therefore, we see, had abundant reason for both the lines before us."
Which would he great impeachment to his age.
Impeachment, a subject for reproach or accusation. The word here seems used in rather an unusual sense, as from the Latin impeto.
Attends the emperor in his royal court. " Shakespeare has been guilty of no mistake in placing the emperor's court at
56
NOTES TO THE EIUST ACT.
Milan in tliis play. Several of the first German emperors lield their courts there occasionally, it hcing, at that time, their immediate property, and the chief town of their Italian dominions. Some of them were crowned kings of Italy at Milan, before they received the imperial crown at Eome. Nor has the poet fallen into any contradiction, by giving a duke to Milan at the same time that the emperor held his court there. The lirst dukes of that, and aU the other great cities in Italy, were not sovereign princes, as they afterwards became : but were merely governors, or viceroys, under the emjierors, and removeable at their pleasure. Such was the Duke of Milan mentioned in this play. Mr. Monck Mason adds, that 'during the M-ars in Italy between Erancis 1. and Charles V. the latter frequently resided at Milan.' " — Steevens.
In good time.
This phrase, equivalent to a propos, is spoken at the sight of Proteus. " In good time, opportune^ Baret's Alvearie, 1580. "And in good time here comes the sweating lovH,''' Richard HI. "In very good time, opportune, optime, peroppor- tune" Idiomatologia Anglo-Latina, 1670. "In good time, in liora huona,'' Howell.
Now will we hreaJc with him.
Ereak the subject to him. " To breake talke or communication, incidere sermonem" Baret, ibid. The phrase occurs again in the tirst act of Much Ado about Nothing.
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed.
Muse, wonder. So in Macbeth, "Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends." Huloet, Abcedarium, 1552, Yei&cQ miise, "vide in marvoyle."
And there an end.
The third folio alters this quaint and expressive phraseology to the modern, "and there's an end."
Lilce exhihition thou shall have from me.
Exhibition, allowance, pension. Compare Othello, act i.; King Lear, act i. So, in Webster's Devil's Law Case, 1623, "in his riot does far exceed the exhibition I allowed him." The term is still in use in the Universities. "A pensioner, or he that liveth upon some annuitie, yearely allowance, or exhibition," Nomenclator, 1585. " His braynes, his time, all hys maintenance and exhibition upon it he hath consumed," Nash's Have with you to Saffron Walden, or Gabriell Harvey's Hunt is Up, 1596. " Eearing, by your narrow exhibition, you lov'd me not," Shirley's Brothers, p. 26. "All things requisite and necessary for their exibicion and findings as my kynneswomen," MS. Accounts. The term is of constant occurrence in this sense.
Of all the exhibition yet bestow' d,
This woman's liberality likes me hest.~ Ilegwood's Udward IV.
No ; whether you be at primero, or hazard, you shall sit as patiently, though you lose a whole half-year's exhibition, as a disarmed gentleman does when he is in the unmerciful fingers of sergeants. — Decker s GulVs Hornbook, 1609.
Hath he excepted most against my love. An honest man invited a physition to dinner, and at dinner time drunk to him in a cup of wine : whereunto the physition excepted, and said, that he durst not pledge him in wine for feare of pimples and inflammations in his face. The other then answered, a foule yU on that face that makes the whole body fare the worse. — Copley s Wits, Fits, and Fancies, 1614.
NOTES TO THE FIRST ACT.
57
And hy and hy a cloud takes all away.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
As after sun-set fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. — Sonnets.
"At the end of this verse (0, how, &c.), there is wantuig a syllable, for the speech apparently ends in a quatrain. I find nothing that wiU rhyme to sun, and therefore shaU leave it to some happier critic. But I suspect that the author might write thus :
"Oh, how this spring of love resemble th right, The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shews aU the glory of the light. And, by and by, a cloud takes all away !
" Light wsis either by negligence or affectation changed to stm, which, considered without the rhyme, is indeed better. The next transcriber, finding that the word right did not rhyme to sun, supposed it erroneously written, and left it out." — Johnson.
I quote this chiefly for the sake of remarking how exceedingly dangerous and unnecessary it is to interfere with the original text, merely on account of a deficiency of rhyme, which is, in fact, one of the most striking, and often most beautiful, peculiarities of the ancient dramatists. The Perkins MS. affords several examples in this kind of what a prosaic mind wiU venture upon, when uncontrolled by a deference to authority ; but Dr. Johnson's alterations, given above, are more favorable specimens of a similar license. Mr. Wheler's annotated copy of the third folio (earlier than Pope's time) reads —
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth tDell.
8
SCENE I. — Milan. A Room in the Duke's palace.
Enter Valentine and Speed.
Speed. [Picking up a glove.^ Sir, your glove? Val. Not mine; my gloves are on.
Speed. Why, then this may be yours, for this is but one.^
Val. Ha! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine: Sweet ornament, that decks a thing divine! Ah Silvia! Silvia!
Speed. [Calls.'] Madam Silvia! madam Silvia!
Val. How now, sirrah?
Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her?
Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
Val. Well, you'll still be too forward.
Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.
Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia?
Speed. She that your worship loves?
Val. Why, how know you that I am in love?
Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you have learn'd, like sir Proteus, to wreath 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 A.B.C.;' 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 wont, when you laughed, to crow like a
60
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA, [act ii. sc. i.
cook; when you walk'd, to walk hke one of the hons;^ when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it \\as for want of money: and now you are metamorphos'd'^ with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you mv master.
J'al. Are all these things perceiv'd in me?
Speed. They are all perceiv'd without ye.
J Id. Without me they cannot.
Speed. 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, 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.
Vol. But tell me dost thou know my lady Silvia?
Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?
Fed. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean.
Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.
Tal. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not?
Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. J^al. What dost thou know?
Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favour'd. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.
Speed. That 's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count.
V al. How painted ? and how out of count?
Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.
V d. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty.^
Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd.
V il. How long hath she been deform'd?
Speed. Ever since you lov'd her.
V d. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful.
Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Val. Wliy?
Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your o\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have, w hen you chid at sir Proteus for going ungarter'd!
ACTn. sc. I.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE YEEONA.
61
Val. What should I see then?
Speed. 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.
Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you, you swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.
Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
Speed. I would you were set;" so your affection would cease.
Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves.
Speed. And have you?
Val. I have.
Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them; — Peace! here she comes.
Enter Silvia.
Speed. O excellent motion O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her.
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.^^
Speed. O, 'give ye good ev'n! here's a million of manners. [Aside.
Sil. Sir Valentine and servant,^* to you two thousand.
Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; Wliich I was much unwilHng to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship.
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 't is very clerkly done.^^
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;^*^ For, being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully.
Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write. Please you command, a thousand times as much: And yet, —
Sil. 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 1 thanlc you; Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
62
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, [act ii. sc. i.
Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Aside.
Val. What means your ladyship; do you not like it?
Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ. But since unwillingly, take them again; Nay, take them.
Val. IMadam, they are for you.
S'd. Ay, ay, 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.
Val. Please you, I '11 write your ladyship another.
SU. And when it 's writ, for my sake read it over: And if it please you, so: if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Wliy, if it please you, take it for your labour : And so, good morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia.
Speed. O 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. O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better. That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?
Val. How now, sir? what, are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 't is you that have the reason.^^ Val. To do what?
Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Val. To whom?
Speed. To yourself : why, she woos you by a figure.
V il. What figure?
Speed. By a letter, I should say.
V il. Wliy, she hath not writ to me?
Speed. Wliat need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me.
Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest?
V ul. She gave me none, except an angry word.^^
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
V d. That 's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she deliver 'd, and there an end.^^
V d. I would it were no worse.
Speed. I '11 warrant you 't is as well:
ACT II. SC. II.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA. 63
For often liave 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. —
All this I speak in print/^ for in print I found it. — Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time. F^al. I have din'd.
Speed. Aj, but hearken, sir; though the cameleon Love can feed on the air,^* I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals," and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved.^*^ [Ecceunt.
SCENE II. — ^Verona. A room in Julia's House. Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. Wlien possibly I can, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not,^^ you will return the sooner : Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [^Giving a ring.
Pro. Why, then we 'U make exchange here, take you this.
[Giving her another.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.^''
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day. Wherein I sigh not ' JuHa' for thy sake. The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! My father stays my coming ; answer not : Tlie tide is now; nay, not thy tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should: [Exit Julia.
Juha, farewell! — What! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
Enter Panthino.
Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go; I come, I come:-
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
64
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA. [act ii. sc. m.
SCENE III.— The same. A street.
Enter Launce, leading a dog.
Lann. Nay, 't will be this hour ere I have done weeping ; all the kind of the Launccs have this very fault. I have receiv'd my proportion, hke 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 maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, 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 ! A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I '11 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; — nay, that cannot be so neither: — ^yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father ; A vengeance on 't ! there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look you, she is as white as a Hly,^^ and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog :^" — no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog, — O ! the dog is me, and I am myself ; ay, so, 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, (O, that she could speak now like an old woman — well, I kiss her ; — why, there 't is ; here 's my mother's breath up and dovm. Now come I to my sister ; mark the moan she makes : now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino.
Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard I Thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars. What 's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you '11 lose the tide, if you tany any longer.
Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost;^* for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.
Pan. Wliat 's the unkindest tide ;
Laun. Why, he that 's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog.
ACT II. SC. IV.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
G5
Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt 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, — ^Why dost thou stop my mouth ?
Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Pan, Where should I lose my tongue?
Laun. In thy tale.
Pan. In thy tail?
Laun. Lose the tide,^^ and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide! — Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
Pan. Wilt thou go?
Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.— Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Sil. Servant. Val. Mistress.
Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it 's for love.
Speed. Not of you.
Val. Of my mistress, then.
Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply I do.
Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.
Thu. What seem I that I am not? Val. Wise.
Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly.
Thu. And how quote''^ you my folly?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.
Val. Well, then, I '11 double your folly.
n. 9
66
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE YEEONA. [act ii. sc. iv.
T/m. How?
Sil. AYliat, aiigTy, sir Tluirio? do you change colour? VaJ. Give nie leave,'* madam; lie is a kind of eameleon. Tint. That hath more mind to feed on your hlood, than live in vour air.
J (fl. You have said, sir.
Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.
T^al. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you hegin.
Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.
FaL 'T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil. Who is that, servant?
Val. Yoiu'self, 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.
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. 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 w ords.
Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.
Enter the Duke.
Buhe. Now, daughter Silvia, 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?
Val. My lord, I will be thankful
To any happy messenger from thence.
Duhe. Know ye, Don Antonio,^^ your countryman?
Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation,*" And not without desert so well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a son?
Val. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well ?
Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd 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, for that 's his name.
ACT 11. SC. IV.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA. 07
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 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) He is complete in feature,*^ and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good. He is as worthy for an empress' love. As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me. With commendation from great potentates; And here he means to spend his time awhile : I think 't is no unwelcome news to you.
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duhe. Welcome him, then, according to his worth ; Silvia, I speak to you: and you, sir Thurio: — For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:*^
I will send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke.
Val. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
8il. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Upon some other pawn for fealty.*^
Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.
Sil. Nay, then, he should be blind ; and, being blind. How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val. Why, lady. Love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at all —
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object Love can wink.
Enter Proteus.
Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
[Exeunt Thurio and Speed.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I beseech you Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow- servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant!
68
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA, [act ii. sc. iv.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Tal. Leave off discourse of disability: — Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed; Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
Pro. I '11 die on him that says so, but yourself.*^
SU. That you are welcome?
Pro. That you are worthless. *°
Re-enter Thurio.
Thu. Madam, my lord*^ your father would speak with you.
Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, Go with me: — once more, new servant, welcome: I '11 leave you to confer of home-affairs ; When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro. \Ye '11 both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours? Pro. I left them all in health.
Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your love?
Pro. ^ly tales of love were wont to weary you; I know you joy not in a love-discourse.
F^al. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter 'd now: I have done penance for contemning Love, Whose high imperious thoughts^^ have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt of love. Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes. And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. O, gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord; And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, There is no w oe*^ 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.
ACT II. SC. iv.j THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye; Was this the idol that you worship so?
Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon.^"
Val. Call her divine.
Pro. I will not flatter her.
Val. O, flatter me, for love delights in praises.
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills; And I must minister the like to you.
Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine. Yet let her be a principality,"^ Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress.
Val. Sweet, except not any;
Exce^it thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her, too: She shall be dignified with this high honour, — To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,^^ And, of so great a favour growing proud. Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; She is alone I''
Pro. Then let her alone.
Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel. As 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.^^
Pro. But she loves you?
VaL Ay, and we are betroth'd: Nay, more, our marriage ho With all the cunning manner of our flight, Determin'd of: how I must climb her window;
70
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. [act ii. sc. v.
The ladder made of cords; and all the means Plotted, and 'greed on, for niy happiness, (lood Protens, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy connscl.
Pi'o. Go on before; I shall inqnire you forth: I must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use; And then I '11 presently attend you.
Vol. AYill you make haste?
Pro. I will. — [Exit Valentine.
Even as one heat another heat expels,^'' Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it her mien, or Valentino's praise,^'^ Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus? She is fair; and so is Julia, that I love — That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,'^^ Bears no impression of the thing it was. INIethinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold, And that I love him not as I was wont: O! 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! 'T is but her picture''^ I have yet beheld. And that hath dazzled my reason's light ;''^ But w hen I look on her perfections, There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit.
SCENE V. A street in Milan.
Enter Speed and Launce.
Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Lairn. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I am not welcome. I reckon this, always — that a man is never undone.
ACT II. SC. v.] THE T WO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA.
71
till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, 'Welcome.'
Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia?
Laun. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him?
Laun. No.
Speed. How then? Shall he marry her?
Laun. No, neither.
Speed. What, are they broken?
Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.*^^
Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter with them?
Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.
Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My staff understands me.
Speed. What thou say'st?
Laun. Ay, and what I do, too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me.''^
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.
Laun. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.
Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match?
Laun. Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will; if he say no, it wiU; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.
Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will.
Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.
Speed. 'T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou,"' that my master is become a notable lover? Laun. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how.^
Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass! thou mistak'st me.
Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.
Speed. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.
Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house, so:'''' if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.
72
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, [act ri. sc. vi.
Speed. Why.
Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale''^ with a Christian: Wilt thou go?
Speed. At thy service. [Fjeunt.
SCENE VI. — Milan. A Room in the Palace. Enter Proteus.
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath, Provokes me to this threefold perjury. Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear:
0 sweet suggesting"^ Love! if thou hast sinn'd, 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"*^ t' exchange the bad for better. —
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
1 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, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend.
For love is still most precious in itself :^°
And Silvia, (witness Heaven, that made her fair!)
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself.
Without some treachery us'd to Valentine: —
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
ACT II. SC. VII.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA.
73
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window,
Myself in counsel, his competitor
Now presently I '11 give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight
Wlio, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine,
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I '11 quickly cross.
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift.
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift \_Ex'd.
SCENE VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's Home. Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist me! And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,^* Who art the table^^ wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, — To lesson me; and tell me some good mean. How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus.
Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. 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.
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food ? Pity the dearth that I have pined in, By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,^** Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love w ith words.
Luc. 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.
Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns; The current that with gentle murmur glides. Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; But, when his fair course is not hindered,
II. 10
74)
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VEEONA. [act ii. sc. vii.
He makes sweet music with th'enamell'd stones.
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge"
He overtaketli in his pilgrimage ;
And so hy many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Tlien let me go, and hinder not my course :
I '11 he as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have hrouglit me to my love ;
And there I '11 rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jill. 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.
Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair.
Jul. 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.
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
Jul. That fits as well as — ' Tell me, good my lord. What compass will you wear your farthingale?'^*^ Why, ev'n what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece,*^ madam.
Jul. Out, out, Lucetta!*'' that will be ill-favour'd.
Luc. A round hose,^^ madam, now 's not worth a pin, unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.
Jul. Lucetta, 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 scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Jul. Nay, that I will not.
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come, No matter who 's displeas'd when you are gone; I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears.
ACT II. SC. VII.] THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA.
75
And instances of infinite^* of love. Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Imc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. 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.
Luc. Pray heav'n he prove so, when you come to him!
Jul. Now, as thou lov'st 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.^^ All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,^^ My goods, my lands, my reputation; Only, in lieu, thereof, despatch me hence: Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt.
Itot^s id tlje Stroller %d.
^ For this is hut one.
To understand Speed's jest, it is necessary to observe that one was constantly pronounced, and often written, on. Examples of this in early English are almost innumerable. On urd, one word, Untrussing of the Humorous Poet. "If in a morning his shoes were put one wrong, and namely the left for the right, he held it unlucky," Holland's Suetonius, 1606.
You knowe in court up-trained is
A lyon very young; Of on litter two whelps beside,
As yet not very strong.
Preston^s Life of King Cambises.
^ Lilce a 8cliool-hoy that had lost his ABC.
The large facsimile of a metrical ABC book, dated 1575, here