Myself in counsel, his competitor: Now presently I'll give her father notice [Exit. SCENE VII. Verona. A room in Julia's House. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me! Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. 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 with 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 dam'st it up, the more it burns; The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th' enamelled stones, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, Then let me go, and hinder not my course: I I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, Luc. But in what habit will you go along? 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, even 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 favored. 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 scandalized. 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 displeased, when you are gone : I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: 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. ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. An Anteroom in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets 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 favors My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. I know you have determined to bestow her Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Sir Valentine her company, and my court: (A rashness that I ever yet have shunned,) I That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean Enter VALENTINE. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Duke. Be they of much import? Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. [Exit Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter. Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacling duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady, sir, 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 changed:) How, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. For scorn at first makes after-love the more. Duke But she I mean, is promised by her friends And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. |