Puslapio vaizdai

Go, bafe Intruder, over-weening Slave,
Beftow thy fawning Smiles on equal Mates,
And think my Patience, more than thy Defert,
Is Privilege for thy Departure hence:
Thank me for this, more than for all the Favours
Which, all too much, I have bestowed on thee.
But if thou linger in my Territories
Longer than fwifteft Expedition

Will give thee time to leave our Royal Court,
By Heav'n, my Wrath fhall far exceed the Love
I ever bore my Daughter, or thy felf:

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain Excufe,

But as thou lov❜ft thy Life, make speed from hence. [Exit.
Val. And why not Death, rather than living Torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from my felf,
And Silvia is my felf; banish'd from her
Is felf from felf: A deadly Banishment!
What Light is Light, if Silvia be not feen?
What Joy is Joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the Shadow of Perfection,
Except I be by Silvia in the Night,
There is no Mufick in the Nightingale:
Unless I look on Silvia in the Day,
There is no Day for me to look upon :
She is my Effence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair Influence
Fofter'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not Death to fly his deadly Doom;
Tarry I here, I but attend on Death;
But fly I hence, I fly away from Life.
Enter Protheus and Launce.

Pro. Run, Boy, run, run, and feek him out.
Laun. Soa-hough, Soa-hough-

Pro. What feest thou?

Laun. Him we go to find:

There's not an Hair on's Head but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val, No.

Pro. Who then; his Spirit?
Val. Neither.


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Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? Mafter, fhall I ftrike?
Pro. Whom wouldft thou ftrike?
Lann, Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, Sir, I'll ftrike nothing; I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I fay, forbear: Friend Valentine, a Word. Val. My Ears are ftopt, and cannot hear good News, So much of bad already hath poffeft them.

Pro. Then in dumb Silence will I bury mine; For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead ?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for facred Silvia; Hath the forfworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forfworn me: What is your News?

Laun. Sir, there is a Proclamation that you are vanished. Pro, That thou art banish'd; oh that's the News, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy Friend. Val. Oh, I have fed upon this Wo already; And now Excefs of it will make me furfeit, Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd?

Pro. Ay, Ay; and fhe hath offered to the Doom,
Which unrevers'd ftands in effectual Force,
A Sea of melting Pearl, which fome call Tears:
Those at her Father's churlish Feet the tender'd,
With them upon her Knees, her humble self,
Wringing her Hands, whofe Whitenefs fo became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for Wo.
But neither bended Knees, pure Hands held up,
Sad Sighs, deep Groans, nor filver-fhedding Tears,
Could penetrate her uncompaffionate Sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, muft die.
Befides, her Interceffion chaf'd him fo,
When the for thy Repeal was fuppliant,
That to close Prifon he commanded her,
With many bitter Threats of biding theres

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Val. No more, unless the next Word that thou fpeak'ft
Have fome malignant Power upon my Life:
If fo, I pray thee breathe it mine Ear,
As ending Anthem of my endless Dolour.



Pro. Ceafe to lament for that thou canst not help,
And ftudy Help for that which thou lament?ft.
Time is the Nurfe and Breeder of all Good::
Here if thou ftay, thou canst not fee thy Love;
Befides, thy ftaying will abridge thy Life.
Hope is a Lover's Staff, walk hence with that,
And manage it against defpairing Thoughts.
Thy Letters may be here, tho' thou art hence,
Which, being writ to me, fhall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white Bofom of thy Love.
The time now ferves not to expoftulates
Come, I'll convey thee through the City-gate,
And, e'er I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy Love-affairs:
As thou lov't Silvia, tho' not for thy felf,
Regard thy Danger, and along with me..






Val. I pray thee Launce, and if thou feeft my Boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the North-Gate. Pro. Go Sirrah, find him out: Come Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! haplefs Valentine! Laun. I am but a Fool, look you, and yet I have the Wit to think my Mafter 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 Teem of Horfe fhall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a Woman; but what Woman I will not tell my felf; and yet 'tis a Milk-maid; yet 'tis not a Maid, for the hath had Goffips; yet 'tis a Maid, for fhe is her Mafter's Maid, and ferves for Wages: She hath more Qualities than a Water-Spaniel, which is much in a bare Chriftian. Here is the Cate-log [Pulling out a Paper] of her Conditions; Imprimis, She can fetch and carry; why a Horfe can do no more, nay a Hoife cannot fetch, but only cary; therefore is the better than a Jede. Item, the can milk; look you, a sweet Virtue in a Maid with clean Hands.

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Enter Speed.

Speed. How now Signior Launce? What News with Mattership?

Laun. With my Maftership? Why, it is at Sea. Speed. Well, your old Vice ftill; mistake the Word: What News then in your Paper?

Laun. The blackeft News that ever thou heard'ft.


Speed. Why Man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as Ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fie on thee, Jolthead, thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the Son of my Grand-father.
Laun. O illiterate Loiterer, it was the Son of thy
Grand-mother; this proves that thou canfl not read.
Speed. Come Fool, come, try me in thy Paper.
Laun. There, and S. Nicholas be thy Speed.
Speed. Imprimis, fhe can milk.

Laun. Ay, that the can.

Speed. Item, the brews good Ale.

Laun. And therefore comes the Proverb, Bleffing of your Heart, you brew good Ale. Speed. Item, the can fowe."

Laun. That's as much as to fay, Can fhe fo?

Speed. Item, the can knit.


Laun. What need a Man care for a Stock with a Wench, When the can knit him a Stock!

Speed. Item, the can wath and fcour.

Lann. A fpecial Virtue, for then the need not to be wash'd and fcour'd,

Speed. Item, the can spin.

Laun. Then may I fet the World on Wheels, when the can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, the hath many nameless Virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay Baftard Virtues, that ins deed know not their Fathers, and therefore have no Names. Speed. Here follow her Vices.

Laun. Clofe at the Hecls of her Virtues.

Speed. Item, he is not to be kift fafting, in refpect of her Breath.



Laun. Well, that Fault may be mended with a Breakfast: Read on.

Speed. Item, he hath a fweet Mouth,

Laun. That makes amends for her four Breath.

Speed. Item, fhe doth talk in her Sleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, fo the fleep not in her Talk.
Speed. Item, he is flow in Words.

Laun. Oh Villain! that fet down among her Vices!
To be flow in Words is a Woman's only Virtue:

I pray thee out with't, and place it for her chief Virtue, Speed. Item, he is proud.

Laun. Out with that too:

It was Eve's Legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed. Item, the hath no Teeth.

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love Crufts.
Speed. Item, he is curft.

Laun. Well, the best is fhe hath no Teeth to bite.
Speed. Item, he will often praise her Liquor.

Laun. If her Liquor be good, fhe fhall; if she will not I will, for good things fhould be praised.

Speed. Item, fhe is too liberal.

Laun. Of her Tongue the cannot, for that's writ down fhe is flow of; of her Purfe fhe fhall not, for that I'll keep fhut; now of another thing fhe may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

Speed. Item, the hath more Hairs than Wit, and more Faults than Hairs, and more Wealth than Faults.

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her; fhe was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that Article. Rehearse that once


Speed. Item, the hath more Hair than Wit.

Laun. More Hair than Wit; it may be I'll prove it: The Cover of the Salt hides the Salt, and therefore it is more than the Salt, the Hair that covers the Wit is more than the Wit; for the greater hides the lefs. What's next?

Speed. And more Faults than Hairs.

Laun. That's menftrous: Oh that that were out.
Speed. And more Wealth than Faults.

Laun. Why that Word makes the Faults gracious: Well, I'll have her; and if it be a Match, as nothing i impoffible


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