Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course :
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love ;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed foul doth in Elysium.
Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
JUL. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lafcivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with fuch 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 filken 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, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece,
Juz. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd.
Luc. A round hofe, 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 fcandaliz'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,
And instances as infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Luc. 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 fincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc. Pray heaven, 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 deferve 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, dispatch me hence :
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
lam impatient of my tarriance.
SCENE I. Milan. An Anti-room in the DUKE's Palace. Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS.
DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have fome fecrets to confer about. [Exit ThurIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
PRO. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal : But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Know, worthy prince, fir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter ; Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know, you have determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; And should she thus be stolen away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's fake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of forrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honeft care; Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep; And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court: But, fearing left my jealous aim might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself haft now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
PRO. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber-window will afcend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at ;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
PRO. Adieu, my lord; fir Valentine is coming. [Exit
DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? VAL. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. DUKE. Be they of much import? VAL. The tenor of them doth but fignify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while; I am to break with thee of fome affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have fought
To match my friend, fir Thurio, to my daughter.
VAL. I know it well, my lord; and, fure, the match
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, fullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child,
Nor fearing me as if I were her father :
And, may I say to thee, this pride of her's,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in :
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ;
For me and my poffeffions she esteems not.
VAL. What would your grace have me to do in this?
DUKE. There is a lady, fir, in Milan, here,
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court;
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her fun-bright eye.
VAL. Win her with gifts, if the respect not words;
Dumb jewels often, in their filent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
VAL. A woman sometime scorns what beft contents her:
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