PROTEUS Valentine?
VALENTINE No.
PROTEUS Who then—his spirit?
VALENTINE Neither.
PROTEUS What then?
VALENTINE Nothing.
LANCE Can nothing speak?
He threatens Valentine
Master, shall I strike?
PROTEUS Who wouldst thou strike?
LANCE Nothing.
PROTEUS Villain, forbear.
LANCE Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—
PROTEUS
Sirrah, I say forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.
VALENTINE
My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possessed them.
PROTEUS
Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
VALENTINE
Is Silvia dead?
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?
LANCE 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 banishèd?
PROTEUS
Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom,
Which unreversed stands in effectual force,
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears.
Those at her father’s churlish feet she tendered,
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 chafed 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 delivered
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, Lance, an if thou seest my boy
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the North Gate.
PROTEUS
Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.
VALENTINE
O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine.
Exeunt Proteus and Valentine
LANCE 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.
He takes out a paper
Here is the catalogue of her conditions. ‘Imprimis, 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, Signor Lance, what news with your mastership?
LANCE 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?
LANCE The blackest news that ever thou heard’st.
SPEED Why, man, how ‘black’?
LANCE Why, as black as ink.
SPEED Let me read them.
LANCE Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read.
SPEED Thou liest. I can.
LANCE I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?
SPEED Marry, the son of my grandfather.
LANCE O illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy grand-mother. This proves that thou canst not read.
SPEED Come, fool, come. Try me in thy paper.
LANCE (giving Speed the paper) There: and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.
SPEED ‘Imprimis, she can milk.’
LANCE Ay, that she can.
SPEED ‘Item, she brews good ale.’
LANCE And thereof comes the proverb ‘Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale’.
SPEED ‘Item, she can sew.’
LANCE That’s as much as to say ‘Can she so?’
SPEED ‘Item, she can knit.’
LANCE What need a man care for a stock with a wench when she can knit him a stock?
SPEED ‘Item, she can wash and scour.’
LANCE A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured.
SPEED ‘Item, she can spin.’
LANCE Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.
SPEED ‘Item, she hath many nameless virtues.’
LANCE That’s as much as to say ‘bastard virtues’, that indeed know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.
SPEED Here follows her vices.
LANCE Close at the heels of her virtues.
SPEED ‘Item, she is not to be broken with fasting, in respect of her breath.’
LANCE Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.
SPEED ‘Item, she hath a sweet mouth.’
LANCE That makes amends for her sour breath.