Befides, thy ftaying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's ftaff; walk hence with that;
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, tho' thou art hence,
Which, being writ to.me, fhall be deliver'd
Ev'n in the milk-white bofom of thy love.
The time now ferves not to expoftulate;
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't Silvia, tho' not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. i pray thee, Launce, an 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! hapless Valentine!

[Exeunt Val. and Pro. 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 team 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 myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid; yet 'tis not a maid, for fhe hath had goffips; yet 'tis a maid, for the is her mafter's maid and ferves for wages; he hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel, which is much in a bare chriftian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions; imprimis, the can fetch and carry ; why, a horfe can do no more; nay, a horfe cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is the better than a jade. Item, he can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in

a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed.

Speed. How now, fignior Launce? what news with your mastership?

Laun. With my mafter's fhip? why, it is at sea. (12)

Speed. (12) With my mastership? why, it is at fea.] Thefe poetical Editors are pleafant Geatlemen to let this pals without any fufpicion.

For

Speed. Well, your old vice ftill; miftake the word; What news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackeft news that ever thou heard'st.
Speed. Why, man, how black?
Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fy on thee, jolt-head, thou can'st not read.
Speed. Thou lyeft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the fon of my grand-father.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer, it was the fon of thy
grand mother; this proves, that thou canst not read.
Speed. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper.
Laun. There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed!
Speed. Imprimis, fhe can milk.

Laun. Ay, that she can.

Speed. Item, fhe brews good ale.

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, Bleffing of your

heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, he can fowe.

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

Speed. Item, fhe can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when fhe can knit him a stock!

Speed. Item, fhe can wash and scour.

Laun. A fpecial virtue, for then the need not to be wafh'd and fcour'd..

Speed. Item, fhe can spin.

Laun. Then may I fet the world on wheels, when The can fpin for her living.

Speed. Item, fhe hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to fay, baftard virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no

names.

For how does Launce miftake the word? Speed asks him about his maftership, and he replies to it litteratim. But then how was his maftership at fea, and on fhore too? The addition of a letter and a note of Apostrophe make Launee both mistake the word, and fets the pun right: It reftores, indeed, but a mean joke; but, without it, there is no fenfe in the paffage. Befides, it is in character with the reft of the scene; and I dare be confident, the Poet's own conceit.

Speed

Speed. Here follow her vices.

Laun. Clofe at the heels of her virtues.

Speed. Item, fhe is not to be kit fafting, in refpect of her breath.

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast: read on.

Speed. Item, the hath a sweet mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her four breath.
Speed. Item, fhe doth talk in her fleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, fo fhe fleep not in her talk.

Speed. Item, he is flow in words.

Laun. O 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, fhe 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, the is curft.

Laun. Well; the best is, the hath no teeth to bite. Speed. Item, She will often praife her liquor. Laun. If her liquor be good, the 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 she shall not, for that I'll keep fhut; now of another thing she may, and that cannot help. Well, proceed.

Speed. Item, the hath more hairs than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.

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

that once more.

Speed. Item, the hath more hair than wit.

Laun. More hair than wit, it may be; I'll prove it: the cover of the falt hides the falt, and therefore it is more than the falt; the hair, that covers the wit, is

more

more than the wit; for the greater hides the lefs. What's next?

Speed. And more faults than hairs.

Laun. That's monftrous: 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 is impoffibleSpeed. What then?

Laun. Why then will I tell thee, that thy mafter ftays for thee at the north-gate.

Speed. For me?

Laun. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath ftaid for a better man than thee.

Speed. And muft I go to him?

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou haft ftaid fo long, that going will fcarce ferve the turn.

Speed. Why didit not tell me fooner? pox on your love-letters!

Laun. Now will he be fwing'd for reading my letter: an unmannerly flave, that will thrust himself into fecrets.—I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction.

Enter Duke and Thurio.

[Exeunt.

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you,
Now Valentine is banifh'd from her fight.
Thu. Since his exile fhe hath defpis'd me moft,
Forfworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am defperate of obtaining her.

Duke. This weak imprefs of love is as a figure
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat
Diffolves to water, and doth lofe his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And worthlefs Valentine fhall be forgot.

Enter Protheus.

How now, Sir Protheus? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone?
Pro. Gone, my good Lord.

Duke. My daughter takes his going heavily.

Pre.

Pro. A little time, my Lord, will kill that grief.
Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not fo.
Protheus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou haft fhown fome fign of good defert)
Makes me the better to confer with thee.

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace,
Let me not live to look upon your Grace.

Duke. Thou know'ft, how willingly I would effe& The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. Pro. I do, my Lord.

Duke. And alfo, I do think, thou art not ignorant How the opposes her against my will.

Pro. She did, my Lord, when Valentine was here.
Duke. Ay, and perverfely fhe perfevers fo.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine, and love Sr Thurio?
Pro. The best way is to flander Valentine
With falfhood, cowardice, and poor defcent :
Three things, that women highly hold in hate.
Duke. Ay, but he'll think, that it is spoke in hate.
Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it :

Therefore it muft, with circumftance, be fpoken
By one, whom the efteemeth as his friend.

Duke. Then you must undertake to flander him. Pro. And that, my Lord, I fhall be loth to do: 'Tis an ill office for a Gentleman;

Especially, against his very friend.

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your flander never can endamage him;

Therefore the office is indifferent,

Being intreated to it by your friend.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my Lerl: if I can do it,

By ought that I can speak in his difpraife,

She fhall not long continue love to him.

But fay, this weed her love from Valentine, (13)

It follows not, that he will love Sir Thurio.

(13) But fay, this weed her love-] This caft of reafoning very near refembles that of Davus in the Andria of Terence, Act 2. Sc. 2.

Ridiculum Caput !
K

Quafi neceffe fit, fi buic non dat, te illam uxorem ducere

VOL. I.

Thu