Let me not live to look upon your grace.
Thou know’st how willingly I would effect
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.
And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
How she opposes her against my will
Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio?
The best way is to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent,
Three things that women highly hold in hate.
Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.
And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:
’Tis an ill office for a gentleman,
Especially against his very friend.
Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
Being entreated to it by your friend.
You have prevail’d, my lord: if I can do it
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say this weed her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.
Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
Lest it should ravel and be good to none,
You must provide to bottom it on me;
Which must be done by praising me as much
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.
And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,
Because we know, on Valentine’s report,
You are already Love’s firm votary
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
Upon this warrant shall you have access
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
And, for your friend’s sake, will be glad of you;
Where you may temper her by your persuasion
To hate young Valentine and love my friend.
As much as I can do, I will effect:
But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
You must lay lime to tangle her desires
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.
Ay,
Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Say that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity:
For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire-lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady’s chamber-window
With some sweet concert; to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump: the night’s dead silence
Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
And thy advice this night I’ll put in practice.
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently
To sort some gentlemen well skill’d in music.
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
To give the onset to thy good advice.
We’ll wait upon your grace till after supper,
And afterward determine our proceedings.
Act IV
Scene I
The frontiers of Mantua. A forest.
Enter certain Outlaws. | |
First Outlaw | Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. |
Second Outlaw | If there be ten, shrink not, but down with ’em. |
Enter Valentine and Speed. | |
Third Outlaw |
Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye: |
Speed |
Sir, we are undone; these are the villains |
Valentine | My friends— |
First Outlaw | That’s not so, sir: we are your enemies. |
Second Outlaw | Peace! we’ll hear him. |
Third Outlaw | Ay, by my beard, will we, for he’s a proper man. |
Valentine |
Then know that I have little wealth to lose: |
Second Outlaw | Whither travel you? |
Valentine | To Verona. |
First Outlaw | Whence came you? |
Valentine | From Milan. |
Third Outlaw | Have you long sojourned there? |
Valentine |
Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay’d, |
First Outlaw | What, were you banish’d thence? |
Valentine | I was. |
Second Outlaw | For what offence? |
Valentine |
For that which now torments me to rehearse: |
First Outlaw |
Why, ne’er repent it, if it were done so. |
Valentine | I was, and held me glad of such a doom. |
Second Outlaw | Have you the tongues? |
Valentine |
My youthful travel therein made me happy, |
Third Outlaw |
By the bare scalp of Robin Hood’s fat friar, |
First Outlaw | We’ll have him. Sirs, a word. |
Speed | Master, be one of them; it’s an honourable kind of thievery. |
Valentine | Peace, villain! |
Second Outlaw | Tell us this: have you any thing to take to? |
Valentine | Nothing but my fortune. |
Third Outlaw |
Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, |
Second Outlaw |
And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, |
First Outlaw |
And I for such like petty crimes as these, |
Second Outlaw |
Indeed, because you are a banish’d man, |
Third Outlaw |