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PROTEUS.

No, Valentine.

VALENTINE.

No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.

Hath she forsworn me?

PROTEUS.

No, Valentine.

VALENTINE.

No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.

What is your news?

LAUNCE.

Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

PROTEUS.

That thou art banished- O, that's the news!-

From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

VALENTINE.

O, I have fed upon this woe already,

And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

PROTEUS.

Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-

Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force-

A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;

Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;

With them, upon her knees, her humble self,

Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them

As if but now they waxed pale for woe.

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,

Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,

Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-

But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.

Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,

When she for thy repeal was suppliant,

That to close prison he commanded her,

With many bitter threats of biding there.

VALENTINE.

No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st

Have some malignant power upon my life:

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

As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

PROTEUS.

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,

And study help for that which thou lament'st.

Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;

Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.

Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,

And manage it against despairing thoughts.

Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,

Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd

Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.

The time now serves not to expostulate.

Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate;

And, ere I part with thee, confer at large

Of all that may concern thy love affairs.

As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,

Regard thy danger, and along with me.

VALENTINE.

I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,

Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.

PROTEUS.

Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

VALENTINE.

O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!

Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS

LAUNCE.

I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think

my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but

one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet

I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor

who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not

tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for

she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's

maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a

water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the

cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis:

She

can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse

cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a

jade. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid

with clean hands.

Enter SPEED

SPEED.

How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?

LAUNCE.

With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea.

SPEED.

Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,

then, in your paper?

LAUNCE.

The black'st news that ever thou heard'st.

SPEED.

Why, man? how black?

LAUNCE.

Why, as black as ink.

SPEED.

Let me read them.

LAUNCE.

Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.

SPEED.

Thou liest; I can.

LAUNCE.

I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?

SPEED.

Marry, the son of my grandfather.

LAUNCE.

O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.

This proves that thou canst not read.

SPEED.

Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.

LAUNCE.

[Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.

SPEED.

[Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.'

LAUNCE.