Classic Audiobook Collection - The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [comedy]

Episode Date: May 7, 2025

The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: comedy In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Shakespeare follows two close friends, Valentine and Proteus, as their bond is tested by ambition, travel, and the hazards of young love. When Valentine leaves Verona to seek opportunity in Milan, he enters the orbit of Duke of Milan and falls for the Duke's daughter, Silvia, a witty and determined woman caught between duty and desire. Back in Verona, Proteus is tangled in his own romance with the steadfast Julia, until he too is sent to Milan - where temptation and rivalry ignite. As affection shifts and loyalties fray, letters, disguises, and clever servants complicate every plan, especially when Proteus' quick tongue and restless heart collide with Valentine's newfound purpose. With the comic interference of Launce and his famously unruly dog, Crab, the play balances sharp humor with earnest questions about friendship, faithfulness, and what it means to grow up without betraying who you once were. The story accelerates into a web of pursuits and misunderstandings that forces each character to confront the cost of desire and the possibility of forgiveness. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 0 (00:01:55) Chapter 1 (00:23:37) Chapter 2 (00:59:30) Chapter 3 (01:24:40) Chapter 4 (01:51:14) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare. Act 1. Scene 1. Verona. An open place. Enter Valentine and Proteus. Cease to persuade my loving Proteus. Homekeeping youth have ever homely wits. Ah!

Wurts not affection change thy tender days to the sweet glances of thy honored love, I rather would entreat thy company to... see the wonders of the world abroad than living dully sluggard-eyed at home wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness but since thou lovest love still and thrive therein even as i would when i to love begin will thou be gone sweet valentine adieu think on thy proteus when thou happily seest some rare noteworthy object in thy travel wish me partaker in thy happiness when thou dost meet good hap and in thy danger if ever danger do environ thee commend thy grievance to my holy prayers for i will be thy beatsman valentine And on a love-book pray for my success? Upon some book, I love, I'll pray for thee. That's on some shallow story of deep love. How Leander crossed the Hellespond.

That's a deep story of a deeper love, for he was more than over shoes in love. Tis true, for you are boots in love, and yet you never swum the Hellas-pond. Over the boots. Nay, give me not the boots. No, I will not, for it boots. thee not. What? To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans. Coy looks with heart sore sighs, one fading moments mirth with twenty watchful, weary, tedious

nights. If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain. If lost, why then a grievous labor one? However, but a folly. with wit, or else a wit by folly vanquished. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. So by your circumstance I fear you'll prove. Tis love, you Cavalette, I am not love.

Love is your master, for he masters you, and he that is so yoke it by a fool methinks should not be chronicled for wise. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud, the eating canker dwells, so eating love inhabits in the finest wits of all. And writers say, even as the most forward bud is eaten by the canker, erred blow, even so by love, the young and tender wit is turned to folly, blasting in the bud, losing his verdure, even in the prime, and all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore is thy time to counsel thee that art of votary to fond desire?

once more adieu my father at the road expects my coming there to see me shipped and thither will i bring thee valentine sweet proteus no now let us take our leave to millen let me hear from thee by letters of thy success in love and what news else betideth thee in absence of thy friend and likewise will visit thee with mine all happiness be chanced to thee in milan as much to you at home and so farewell Exit. He, after honor, hunts. I, after love. He leaves his friends to dignify them more. I leave myself, my friends, and all, for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me.

Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, war with good counsel, set the world at naught, made wit with musing weak, heart-sick, with thought. Enter speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master? But now he parted hints, to embark for Milan. Twenty to one, then, he is shipped already, and I have played the sheep in losing him.

Indeed, a sheep does very often stray, and if the shepherd be a while away. You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then, and I a sheep? I do. Why, then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Haha, a silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. This proves me still a sheep. True. And thy master, a shepherd. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd, but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me, therefore I am no sheep. The sheep, for fodder, follows the shepherd, The shepherd for food follows not the sheep. Thou, for wages followest thy master. Thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a sheep.

Such another proof will make me cry, bah. But dost thou here, gavest thou my letter to Julia? Aye, sir, I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me a lost mutton, nothing for my labor. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. If the ground be overcharged, you are best stick her. Nay, in that you are astray, twere best pound you. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.

You mistake, I mean the pound, a pinfold. From a pound to a pin, folded over and over, tis three fold too little for carrying your, a letter to your lover. But what said she? First, nodding. I. Nod? I? Why, that's naughty. You mistook, sir. I say she did not, and you ask me if she did not, and I say I. And that's set together, is noddy. Now you have taken the pains to set it together. Take it for your pains. No, no. You shall have it for bearing the letter. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear. with you. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly, having nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Be shroomy, but you have a quick wit. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Come, come, open the matter in brief. What said she? Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What? said she?

Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her. No, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter, and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steel. What said she? Nothing?

No, not so much as, Take this for thy pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you. You have testerned me, and we're quite aware of, henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, which cannot perish having thee aboard being destined to a drier death on shore. Exit speed.

I must go send some better, messenger. I fear my Julia would not do. gain my lines, receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit. Scene two. The same. Garden of Julius House. Enter Julia and Lucetta.

But say, Lucetta, now we are alone. Whits thou then counsel me to fall in love? Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheatfully. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen that every day with Paril encounter me, in thy opinion which is worthiest love please you repeat their names i'll show my mind according to my shallow simple skill what think'st thou of the fair sir eglomor as of a knight well spoken neat and fine but where are you he never should be mine what thinks thou of the rich mercantio well of his wealth but of himself so so what thinks thou of the gentle proteus Lord, Lord, to see what folly reigns in us. How now? What means this passion at his name?

Pardon, dear madam, tis a passing shame that I, unworthy body as I am, should censor thus on lovely gentlemen. Why not on proteus, as of all the rest? Then thus, of many good, I think him best. Your reason? I have no other but a woman's reason. I think him so, because I think him. so. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? Aye, if you thought your love not cast away. Why, he of all the rest, hath never moved me.

Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. His little speaking shows his love but small. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. They do not love that do not show their love. Oh, they love least that let men know their love. I would I knew his mind. Peruse this paper, madam. To Julia.

Say from whom? That the contents will show. Say, say who gave it thee. Valentine's page, and sent, I think, from Proteus. He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, did in your name receive it. Pardon the fault, I pray. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker. Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines,

To whisper and conspire against my youth? Now trust me, tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place, Or else return no more into my sight. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. Will ye be gone? That you may ruminate. Exit.

And yet I would I had o'er looked the letter. It were ashamed to call her back again. again and pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What a fool is she that knows I am a maid, and would not force the letter to my view, since maids and modesty say no to that which they would have the proffer or construe I! Oh, fie! Fye!

Fye how wayward is this foolish love, that like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, and presently all humbled kiss the rod! How churlishly I chid, Lucchetta hence! And willingly I would have had her here. How angrily I taught my brow to frown, when inward joy enforced my heart to smile! My penance is to call Lucetta back, and ask remission from my folly past. What ho? Lucetta!

Re-enter Lucetta. What would your ladyship? Is't near dinner-time? I would it were, that you might kill your stomach on your meat, and not upon your maid. What is't that you took up so gingerly? Nothing. Why didst thou stoop, then? To take a paper up that I let fall.

And is that paper nothing? Nothing concerning me. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, unless it have a false interpreter. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me a note, your lady,

can set. As little by such toys as may be possible, best sing it to the tune of lighter love. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Heavy, but like it hath some burden then. A, and melodious word, would you sing it? And why not you? I cannot reach so high. Let's see your song. How now, Minion? Keep tuned there still, so you will sing it out. and yet me thinks I do not like this tune. You do not? No, madam, it is too sharp. You, Minion, are too saucy.

Nay, now you are too flat, and marred a concord with too harsh a discount. There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. The mean is drowned with your unruly bass. Indeed, I beat the bass for Proteus. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation. tears the letter.

Go, get you gone and let the papers lie. You would be fingering them to anger me. She makes it strange, but she would be best pleased to be so angered with another letter. Exit. Nay, would I were so angered with the same? Oh, hateful hands to tear such loving words,

injurious wasps, to feed on such honey and kill the bees that yield it with your stings. I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ, Kind Julia! Unkind, Julia! As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I throw thy name against the bruising stones, trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ, Love-Wounded Proteus! Oh, poor wounded name! My bosom as a bed shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly healed, and thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

But twice or thrice was Proteus written down. Be calm, Goodwind, blow not a word away till I have found each letter in the letter, except mine own name, that some whirlwind bear unto a ragged, fearful hanging rock, and throw it thence into the raging sea. Lo! Here in one line is his name writ twice! Poor, forlorn proteus, passionate proteus, to the sweet Julia. That I'll tear away. And yet I will not. Sith so prettily he couples it to his complaining names.

Thus will I fold them one on another. Now, kiss, embrace, content, do what you will. We enter Luchetta. Madam, dinner is ready and your father stays. Well, let us go. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tails here? If you respect them, best to take them up. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down, yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.

I see you have a month's mind to them. A, madam, you may say what sights you see. I see things too, although you do. judge, I wink. Come, come, will't please you go? Excient. Scene three. The same.

Antonio's house. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? T'was of his nephew, Proteus, your son. Why? What of him? He wondered that your lordship would suffer him to spend his youth at home, while other men of slender reputation put forth their sons to seek preferment out.

Some to the wars to try their fortune there, some to discover islands far away, some to the studious universities. For any or for all of these exercises, he said that Proteus your son was meat, and did request me to impotune you to let him spend his time no more at home, which would be great impeachment to his age in having known no travel in his youth. Nor needst thou much importune to that whereon this month I have been hammering. I have considered well his loss of time and how he cannot be a perfect man, not being tried and tutored in the world.

Experiences by industry achieved and perfected by the swift course of time. Then tell me, whither were I best to send him? I think your lordship is not ignorant how his companion, youthful Valentine, attends the emperor in his royal court. I know it well. To a good, I think, your lordship sent him thither. There shall he practice tilts and tournaments, hear sweet discourse, converse with nobleman, and be in eye of every exercise worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

I like thy counsel. Well hast thou advised, and that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, the execution of it shall make known. Even with the speediest expedition, I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court. Tomorrow, may it please you, Don Arfonso, with other gentlemen of good esteem, are journeying to salute the Emperor and to commend their service to his will. Good company, with them shall Proteus go, and in good time, now will we break with him. Enter Proteus.

Sweet love, sweet lines. sweet life. Here is her hand, the agent of her heart. Here is her oath for love, her honors pawn. Oh, that our fathers would applaud our loves, to seal our happiness with their consents. Oh, heavenly Julia! How now? What letter are you reading there? May it please your lordship, tis a word or two of commendations sent. from Valentine, delivered by a friend that came from him. Lent me the letter, let me see what news.

There is no news, my lord, but that he writes how happily he lives, how well-beloved and daily graced by the emperor, wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. And how stand you affected to his wish? As one relying on your lordship's will, and not depending on his friendly wish. My will is something sorted with his wish. Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed,

for what I will, I will am there an end. I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time with Valentinus in the Emperor's court. What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. Tomorrow be in readiness to go, excuse it not, for I am peremptory. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided. Please you, deliberate, a day, or two.

Look, what thou wantst shall be sent after thee. No morrow stay, tomorrow thou must go. Come on, Pantino, you shall be employed to hasten on his expedition. Eccient Antonio and Pentheno. Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning. and drenched me in the sea, where I am drowned. I feared to show my father Julia's letter, lest he should take exceptions to my love, and with the vantage of mine own excuse hath he accepted most against my love.

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day, which now shows all the beauty of the sun, and by and by, a cloud takes all away. Re-enter Panthino. Soproteus, your father calls for you. He is in haste, therefore I pray you to go. Why, this it is. My heart accords thereto,

and yet a thousand times it answers no. Excient End of Act 1 Act 2 of the two gentlemen of Verona This Librevox recording is in the public domain The Two Gentlemen of Verona

By William Shakespeare Act 2 Scene 1 Milan The Duke's Palace Enter Valentine and Speed Sir, your glove

Not mine, my gloves are on Why then, this may be your for this is but one. Ha! Let me see. Ah, give it me, it's mine. Sweet ornament, the decks a thing divine.

Ah, Sylvia. Sylvia! Madam Sylvia! Madam Sylvia! How now, Sirrah? She is not within hearing, sir. Why, sir? Who bad you call her?

Your worship, sir, or else I mistook. Well, you'll still be too forward. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. A go-to, sir! Tell me, do you know, Madam Sylvia? She that your worship loves? Why, how do you know that I am in love? Mary, by these special marks.

First, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms like a malacentententent, to relish a love-song like a robin red breast, to walk alone like one that had the pestilence, to sigh like a schoolboy that had lost his ABC, sea, to weep like a young wench that had buried her grandeum, to fast like one that takes diet, to watch like one that fears robbing, to speak peuling like a beggar at Halimus. You were wont when you laughed to crow like a cock, when you walked to walk like one of the lions, when you fasted it was presently after dinner, when you looked sadly it was for want of money.

And now you are metamorphosed with a mistress that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Are all these things perceived in me? They are all perceived without ye. Without me, they cannot. Without you? Nay, that's certain, for without you were so simple, none else would, but you are so without these follies that these follies are within you and shine through you like the water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a physician to comment on your malady. But, tell me, dost thou know, my lady Sylvia? She that you gaze on so, as she sits at some, Hath thou observed that. Even she, I mean. Why, sir, I know her not.

Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not? Is she not hard-favored, sir? Not so fair, boy, as well-favored. Sir, I know that well enough. What dost thou know? That she is not so fair as of you well-favored. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favor infinite. That's because the one is painted and the

other out of all count. How, painted, and how, out of count? Mary, sir, so painted to make her fair that no man counts of her beauty. How esteemest thou me, eye account of her beauty? You never saw her since she was deformed. How long hath she been deformed? Ever since you loved her. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful.

If you love her, you cannot see her, because love is blind. Oh, that you had mine eyes, or your own eyes had the lights they were want to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered. What should I see then? Your own present folly and her passing deformity, for he being in love could not see to garter his hose, and you being in love cannot see to put on your hose. Belike, boy, then you are in love. For last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. True, sir.

I was in love with my bed. I thank you. You swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. And have you? I have. Are they not lamely writ?

No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace! Here she comes! Aside! Oh, excellent motion. seating puppet. Now will he interpret to her. Enter Sylvia. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. Aside. Oh, give ye good even. Here's a million of manners. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

Aside. He should give her interest, and she gives it him. As you enjoined me, I have writ your letter unto the secret, nameless friend of yours, which I was much unwilling to proceed in, but for my duty to your I thank you, gentle servant. It is very clerkly done. Now, trust me, madam, it came hardly off. For being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ it random, very doubtfully. Perchance you think too much of so much pains. No, madam, so I stead you. I will write, please you command a thousand times as much,

and yet— A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel. And yet, I will not name it. it. And yet I care not. And yet take this again. And yet I thank you, meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Aside. And yet you will. And yet another, yet. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it? Yes. Yes, the lines are very quaintly writ, but since unwillingly, take them again.

Nay, take them. Oh, madam, they are for you. Aye. Aye, you writ them, sir, at my request. But I will none of them. They are for you. I would have had them writ more movingly. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

And when it's writ, for my sake, read it over. And if it please you so, if not, why so? If it please me, madam, what then? Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. And so good-morrow, servant. Exit. Oh, jest. Unseen, inscrutable, As a nose on a man's face or a weathercock on a steeple.

My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. Oh, excellent device! Was there ever heard a bet her that my master being scribe To himself should write the letter? How now, sir? What are you reasoning with yourself? Nay, I was rhyming.

Tis you that have the reason. To do what? To be a spokesman from Madam Sylvia. To whom? To yourself. Why she wooes you by a figure. What figure? By a letter, I should say.

Why she hath not writ to me? What need she, when she hath made you right to yourself? Why do you not perceive the jest? No, believe me. No, believing you indeed, sir. but did you perceive her earnest? She gave me none except an angry word. Why, she hath given you a letter.

That's the letter I writ to her friend. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end. I would it were no worse. I'll warrant you tis as well, For often have you writ to her and she in modesty, Or else for want of idle time could not again reply, Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.

All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? Tis dinner-time. I have dined. I, but harken, sir, though the chameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my vittles and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress, be moved, be moved. EXient Scene 2

Verona Julia's house. Enter Proteus and Julia. Have patience, gentle Julia. I must, where there is no remedy. When possibly I can, I will return. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

Giving a ring. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. this. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Here is my hand, for my true constancy. And when that hour or slips me in the day wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, the next ensuing hour, some foul mischance torment me for my love's forgetfulness.

My father stays my coming. not. The tide is now. Nay, not thy tide of tears. That tide will stay me longer than I should. Julia, farewell. Exit Julia. What? Gone without a word? Hi. So true love should do, it cannot speak, for truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. Enter Panthino. Sir Proteus, you are stayed for. Go, I come, I come. Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers, dumb.

Exeunt Scene three, The Same, A street. Enter Lonce, leading a dog. Nay, t'will be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the lances have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and I am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperials Court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives.

My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her her hands and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father.

No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser soul. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this, my father. A vengeance aunt. There it is. Now, sit. This staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand.

This hat is nan, our maid. I am the dog. No, the dog. dog is himself and I am the dog. Oh, the dog is me and I am myself. I, so, so. Now come I to my father. Father, your blessing. Now should not the shoes speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my father? Well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. Oh, that she could speak now like a woodwoman. Well, I kiss her, and why there tis. Here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister, Mark the moan she makes.

Now, the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word, but see how I lay the dust with my tears. Enter Panthino. Lorns, away, away abroad, thy master is shipped and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? Why weepest thou man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. It is no matter if the tide were lost, for it is the unkindest tide that ever any man tied. What's the unkindest tide? Why, he that's tied here, crab, my dog.

Tutman, I mean thou lose the flood, and in losing the flood lose thy voyage, and in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and in losing thy service, and in losing thy service, why dost thou stop my mouth? For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Where should I lose my tongue? In thy tail In thy tail Lose the tide

And the voyage And the master And the service and the tide Why man If the river were dry I am able to fill it with my tears If the wind were down I could drive the boat with my size

Come, come away man I was sent to call thee Sir, call me what thou darest Will thou go? Well, I will go Excient Scene 4 Milan, the Duke's Palace.

Enter Sylvia, Valentine, Thurio, and Speed. Servant. Mistress? Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Aye, boy, it's for love. Not of you. Of my mistress, then. Twere good, you knocked him.

Exit. Servant, you are sad. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Seem you that you are not? Happily, I do. So do counterfeits. So do you. What seem I that I am not?

Wise. What instance of the contrary? Your folly. And how quote you my folly? I quote it in your jerkin. My jerkin is a doublet. Why, then I'll double your folly. How?

What, angry, Sir Thoreo. Do you change color? Give him leave, madam. He is a kind of chameleon. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air. You have said, sir. Aye, sir, and done too for this time. I know it well, sir, you always end, ere you begin.

A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Tis indeed, madam, we thank the giver. Who is that, servant? Yourself, sweet lady, for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

I know it well, sir. You have an exchequer of words, and I think no other treasure to give your followers, for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. Enter Duke. Now, daughter Sylvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health.

What say you to a letter from your friends of much good news? My lord, I will be thankful to any happy messenger from thence. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? I, my good lord, I know the gentleman to be of worth and worthy estimation, and not without dessert so well reputed. Have he not a son? I, my good lord, a son that well deserves the honour and regard of such a father. You know him well? I know him as myself, for from our infancy we have conversed and spent our hours together,

and though myself have been an idle truant omitting the sweet benefit of time to clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, yet hath Sir Proteus, for, that's his name, made use and fair advantage of his days. His years but young, but his experience, old, his head unmeloed, but his judgment ripe, and in a word, for far behind his worth comes all the praises that I now bestow, he is complete, in feature and in mind, with all the good grace to grace, a gentleman. "'Beshrue me, sir, but if he make this good, "'he is as worthy for an Empress's love "'as meet to be an Empress-Counsela. "'Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me "'with commendation from great potentates, "'and here he means to spend his time a while.

"'I think tis no unwelcome news to you.' "'Should I have wished a thing it had been he?' "'Welcome him, then, according to his worth. "'Silvia, I speak to you, and you, you, Sir Thurio, for Valentine, I need not sight him to it. I will send him hither to you presently. Exit. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship had come along with me,

but that his mistress did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks. Belike that now she hath enfranchised them upon some other pawn for fealty. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. Nay, then he should be blind, and being blind. How could he see his way to seek out you? Why, Lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. They say that love hath not an eye at all. To see such lovers' thurio as yourself upon a homely object love can wink.

Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman. Exit Thurio. Enter Proteus. Welcome, dear Proteus. Mistress, I beseech you, confirm his welcome with some special favor. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither. If this be he you oft have wished to hear from. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him to be my fellow servant, your ladyship.

Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Not so, sweet lady, but to mean a servant to have a look of such a worthy mistress. Leave off discourse of disability. Sweet lady, entertain him. for your servant. My duty will I boast of nothing else. And duty never yet did want his mead.

Servant who are welcome to a worthless mistress. I'll die on him that says so but yourself. That you are welcome? That you are worthless. Re-enter Thurio. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak with you.

I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, go with me. once more new servant welcome i'll leave you to confer of home affairs when you have done we look to hear from you we'll both attend upon your ladyship axi and sylvia and thurio now tell me how do all from whence you came your friends are well and have them much commended and how do yours i left them all in health how does your lady and how thrives your love my tales of love were wont to weary you. I know you joy not in a love discourse. I, Proteus, but that life is altered now. I have done penance for condemning love, whose high, imperious thoughts have punished me with bitter fasts, with penitential groans, with nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs, for in revenge of my contempt of love,

Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow Oh, gentle Proteus, loves our mighty Lord And hath so humbled me as I confess, There is no woe to his correction, Nor to his service, no such joy on earth. Now no discourse except it be of love. Now can I break my fast, dine sup, and sleep

Upon the very naked name of love. Enough. I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so? Even she. And is she not a heavenly saint? No, but she is an earthly paragon. Call her divine. I will not flatter her. Oh, flatter me for love delights in praises.

When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills. and i must minister the like to you then speak the truth by her if not divine yet let her be a principality sovereign to all the creatures on the earth except my mistress sweet except not any except thou wilt accept against my love have i not reason to prefer my own and i will help thee to prefer her too she shall be dignified with this high honour to bear my lady's train lest the base earth should from her vest your chance to steal a kiss, and of so great a favor growing proud, disdain to root the summer's swelling flower, and make rough winter everlastingly. Why, Galentine, what braggardism is this?

Pardon me, Proteus, all I can is nothing to her whose worth makes other worthy's nothing. She is alone. Then let her alone. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own, and I as rich in having such a jewel as twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, the water, nectar, and the rocks, pure gold.

Forgive me that I do not dream on me because thou seest me dot upon my love. My foolish rival that her father likes only for his possessions are so huge is gone with her along, and I must after, for love thou knowest, is full of jealousy. But she loves you. I, and we are betrothed, nay more our marriage hour, with all the cunning manner of our flight determined of, I must climb her window, the ladder made of cords, and all the means plotted and greed on for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber in these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Go on before. I shall inquire you forth.

I must unto the road to disembark some necessaries that I needs must use, and then I'll presently attend you. Will you make haste? I will. Exit Valentine. Even as one heat, another heat, expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another. So the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Is it mine, or Valentine's? her true perfection, or my false transgression, that makes me reasonless to reason thus, she is fair, and so is Julia that I love, that I did love, for now my love is thawed, which like a waxen image against a fire bears no impression of the thing it was. He thinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, and that I love him not as I was wont. Oh, but I love his lady too, too much, and that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, that thus, without advice, begin to, begin to, to love her.

Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, and that hath dazzled my reason's light. But when I look on her perfections, there is no reason, but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will. If not, to compass her, I'll use my skill. Exit. Scene 5. The same. A street.

Enter speed and launch severally. Launch. By my honesty, welcome to Millen. For swear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say, welcome. Come on, you, madcap. to the alehouse with you presently, where for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with Madame Julia?

Mary, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. But shall she marry him? No. How then? Shall he marry her? No, neither. What, are they broken? No, they are both as whole as a fish. Why, then, how stands the matter with them? Mary thus, when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.

What an ass art thou, I understand thee not. What a block art thou that thou canst not. My staff understands me. What thou sayest? I, and what I do too. Look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. It stands under thee, indeed. Why, stand under and understand is all one. But, tell me true, wilt be a match.

Ask my dog. If he say I, it will. If he say no, it will. If he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. The conclusion is then that it will. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. Tis well that I get it so. But Luntz, how sayest thou that my master has become a notable lover? I never knew him otherwise. Then how? A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Why thou hoarse and ass, thou mistakest me.

Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse. If not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Why? Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

Hath thou service. Exeant Scene six The same, the Duke's Palace. Enter Proteus. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn? To love fair Sylvia, shall I be forsworn. To wrong my friend, I shall be much foresworn.

And even that power, which gave me first my oath, provokes me to this three-fold perjury. Love bade me swear, and love bids me for swear. Oh, sweet, suggesting love, if thou hast sinned, Teach me thy tempted subject to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, but now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful boughs may heedfully be broken,

and he wants wit that once resolved will to learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. Fye! Fye, unreverent tongue, to call her bad, whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferred with twenty thousand soul confirming oaths. I cannot leave to love, and yet I do. But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia, I lose, and Valentine, I lose. If I keep them, I needs must lose myself. If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, for Valentine, myself.

For Julia, Sylvia. I, to myself, am dearer than a friend, for love is still most precious in itself. And Sylvia, witness heaven that made her fair. shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, remembering that my love to her is dead, and Valentine I'll hold an enemy, aiming at Sylvia as a sweeter friend.

I cannot now prove constant to myself without some treachery used to Valentine. This night he meaneth with a courted ladder to climb, Celestial Sylvia's chamber window. Myself, in counsel, his competitor. Now, presently, I'll give her father notice of their disguising and pretended flight, who all enraged will banish Valentine.

For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter. But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross by some slide trick, Blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. scene seven verona julius house enter julia and luchetta counsel luchetta gentle girl assist me and even in kind love i do conjure thee who art the table wherein all my thoughts are visibly charactered and engraved to lessen me and tell me some good mean how with my honour i may undertake a journey to my loving proteus Alas, the way is wearisome and long.

A true devoted pilgrim is not weary to measure kingdoms with his feeble steps, much less shall she that hath love's wings to fly, and when the flight is made to one so dear of such divine perfection as Sir Proteus, Better forbear till Proteus make return. O knowest 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 wouldst as soon go kindle-fire with snow As seek to quench the fire of love with words? 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. Ah, the more thou damst it up, the more it burns. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou knowest being stopped,

impatiently doth rage. But when his fair course is not hindered, he makes sweet music with the enamelled 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. step have brought me to my love, and there I'll rest, as after much turmoil a blessed soul doth in Elysium. But in what habit will you go along?

Not like a woman, for I would prevent the loose encounters of lascivious men. Gentle luchetta, fit me with such weeds as may be seem some well-reputed page. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair. No, girl. I'll knit it up in silken strings with twenty odd conceited true love-nots. To be fantastic may become a youth of greater time than I shall show to thee. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? That fits as well as, tell me, good my lord, what compass will you wear your farthingale?

Why, even what fashion thou best likest, Luchetta. You must needs have them with a cot-piece, madam. Out, out, Luchetta. That would be ill-fitting, that would be ill-fetchette. Favoured. A round hose, madam, now, is not worth a pin unless you have a cot-piece to stick pins on. Lucetta, as thou lovest 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 one's stay to journey?

I fear me it will make me scandalized. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. Nay, that I will not. 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 with all. That is the least, Lucchetta, of my fear. A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears and instances of infinite of love,

warrant me welcome to my Proteus. All these are servants to deceitful men. 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 sincere, His thoughts immaculate, His tears, Pure messenger sent from his heart, His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him. Now, as thou lovest 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 mine 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. I am impatient of my tarians. Exeunt. End of Act two. Act three of the two gentlemen of Verona. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona By William Shakespeare Act 3 Scene 1 Milan The Duke's Palace Enter Duke, Thurio and Proteus

Sir Thurio Give us leave, I pray a while We have some secrets To confer about Exit Thurio Now tell me, Proteus, What's your will with me? My gracious, Lord,

That which I would discover the law of friendship bids me to conceal. But when I call to mine your gracious favours done to me, undeserving, as I am, my duty pricks me on to utter that which else no worldly good could draw from me. No, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, this night intends to steal away your daughter. Myself am one made privy to the plot.

I know you have determined 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 sake, I rather chose to cross my friend in his intended drift, than, by concealing it, heap on your head a pack of sorrows, which would press you down, being unprevented, to your timeless grave. "'Protius, I thank thee for thine honest care, "'which to requite command me while I live. "'This love of theirs myself have often seen,

"'happily when they have judged me fast asleep, "'and oftentimes a purpose to forbid Sir Valentine her company and my court. "'But fearing lest my jealous aim might err, "'and so unworthily disgraced the man, "'a rashness that I ever yet have shunned, "'I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find that which thyself hast now disclosed to me, and that thou mayest 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 conveyed away. No, noble lord, they have devised a mean, how he her chamber window will ascend, and with a courted 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 pretense.

Upon mine honour he shall never know that I had any light from thee of this, Adieu, my lord. Sir Valentine is coming. Exit. Enter Valentine. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast. Please, it your grace, there is a messenger that stays to bear my letters to my friends, and I am going to deliver them. Be they of much import?

The tenor of them doth, but signify my health and happy being at your court. 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 Tis not unknown to thee That I have sought to match my friend Sothurio to my daughter

I know it well my lord And sure the match were rich and honourable Besides the gentleman is full of virtue Bounty worth and Quality is be seeming Such a wife as your fair daughter Cannot your grace win her to fancy him No, trust me. She is peevish, sullen, fraud, 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 hers, upon advice, hath drawn my love from her, and where I thought the remnant of mine age should now have been cherished by her childlike duty, I now am full resolved 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 possessions She esteems not

What would your grace have me to do in this? There is a lady in Verona here Whom I affect But she is nice and coy And not esteems my aged eloquence Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor For long ago 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.

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. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her. Send her another, never give her o'er. For scorn at first Makes after love the more If she do frown, tis not in hate of you,

But rather to beget more love in you. If she do chide, tis not to have you gone, For why the fools are mad if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say, For get you gone, She doth not mean away. Flatter and praise, command, extol their graces, Though ne'er so black, say they have,

have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman. But she, I mean, is promised by her friends unto a youthful gentleman of worth, and kept severely from resort of men that no man hath access by day to her. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. Aye, but the doors be locked, and keys kept safe, that no man hath recourse to her by night. "'What lets but one may enter at her window?' "'Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, "'and built so showing that one cannot climb it

"'without apparent hazard of his life.' "'Why, then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, "'to cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, "'would serve to scale another hero's tower "'so bold Leander would adventure it?' "'Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, "'advise me where I may have such a letter.' "'When would you use it?

"'Pray, sir, tell me that.' "'This very night, for love is like a child "'that longs for everything that he can come by.' "'By seven o'clock, I'll get you such a ladder.' "'But hark thee, I will go to her alone. "'How shall I best convey the ladder thither?' "'It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it under a cloak "'that is of any length.'

"'A cloak, as long as thine, will serve the turn?' "'Aye, my good lord?' "'Then let me see thy cloak. "'I'll get me one of such a good lord.' another length. Why, any, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.

What letter is the same? What's here? Does Sylvia? And here an engine fit for my proceeding? I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. Reeds. My thoughts do harbour with my Sylvia nightly, and slaves they are to me that send them flying.

O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom arrest them, While I, their king, that hither them importune, Do curse the grace, that with such grace hath blessed them, Because myself do want my servant's fortune, I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord would be.

What's here? sylvia this night i will enfranchise thee tis so and here's the latter for the purpose why fayerton for thou art mirrope's son wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car and with thy daring folly burn the world wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee go be's intruder overweening slave bestir thy fawning smiles on equal mates and think my patience more than thy desert 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 swiftest expedition will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter or thyself. Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, but as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence. Exit.

And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banished from myself. And Sylvia is myself. Banished from her is self from self. A deadly banishment. What light is light if Sylvia be not seen? What joy is joy if Sylvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by and feed upon the shadow of perfection.

Except I be by Sylvia in the night. There is no music in the nightingale. Unless I look on Sylvia in the day, there is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence, and I leave to be, if I be not by her fair influence, fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive. I fly not death to fly his deadly doom. Terry, I hear, I but attend on death. But fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter Proteus and Lance

Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Soho, so ho! What seest thou? Him we go to find. There's not a Heron's head but tis a Valentine. Valentine? No. Who then? His spirit? Neither.

What, then? Nothing. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? Who wouldst thou strike? Nothing. Villain, forbear! Why, sir, I'll strike nothing.

I praying you. Sarah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. My ears are stopped and cannot hear good news. So much of bad already hath possessed them. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, for they are harsh, untunable, and bad. Is Sylvia dead?

No, Valentine. No, Valentine indeed, for sacred Sylvia. Hath she foresworn me? No, Valentine. No, Valentine, if Sylvia have forsworn me. What is your news? Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. That thou art banished.

Oh, that's the news. From hence, from Sylvia, and from me thy friend. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already, and now excessive it will make me surf it. Does Sylvia know that I am banished? Aye, aye, 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, Ringing 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-shed tears could penetrate her uncompassionate sire. But Valentine, if he be tain, 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 biting there. 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 doler. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, and study help for that which thou laments. 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 lovest sylvia though not for thyself regard thy danger and along with me i pray thee lanson if thou seest my boy bid him make haste and meet me at the north gate go sirrah and find him out come valentine oh my dear sylvia haply haply hapless valent valentine and proteus 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 milk-maid,

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. Pulling out a paper. Here is the cate-log of her condition. imprimis she can fetch and carry why a horse can do no more nay a horse cannot fetch but only carry therefore she is better than a jade item she can milk look you a sweet virtue and a maid with clean hands enter speed how now signor lawns what news with your master ship with my master's ship why it is at sea well your old vice still mistake the word what news then in your paper.

The blackest news that ever thou heardest. Why, man? How black? Why, as black as ink? Let me read them. Fie on thee, jolt head, thou canst not read. Thou liest, I can. I will try thee. Tell me this.

Who begot thee? Mary, the son of my grandfather. Oh, illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. Come, fool, come. Try me in thy paper. There, and St. Nicholas be thy speed. Reeds.

Impremis, she can milk. Aye, that she can. Item, she brews good ale. And thereof comes the proverb, Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Item, she can sew. That's as much as to say, can she sew? Item, she can knit.

What need a man care for a stalk with a wench when she can knit him a stock? Item, she can wash and scour. A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured. Item, she can spin. Then may I set the world on wheels when she can spin for her living. Item, she hath many nameless virtues. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues, that indeed know not their fathers and therefore have no names. Here follow her vices.

Close at the heels of her virtues. item she is not to be kissed fasting in respect of her breath well that fault may be mended with a breakfast read on item she hath a sweet mouth that makes amends for her sour breath item she doth talk in her sleep it's no matter for that so she sleep not in her talk item she is slow in words oh villain that set this down among her vices to be slow in words is a woman's only virtue i pray the outwift and place it for her cheque virtue. Item, she is proud. Out with that, too. It was Eve's legacy and cannot be tained from her. Item, she hath no teeth. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Item, she is cursed.

Well, the best is she hath no teeth to bite. Item, she will often praise her liquor. If her liquor be good, she shall. If she will not, I will. For good things should be praised. Item, she is too liberal. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow of. Of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

Item, she hath more hair than wit and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults. Stop there, I'll have her. She was mine and not mine twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. Item, she hath more hair than wit. 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 less. What's next? And more faults than hairs? That's monstrous, oh, that that were out. And more wealth than faults. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her. And if it be a match, as nothing is impossible,

What then? Why, then, will I tell thee, that thy master stays for thee at the north gate? For me? For thee. I, who art thou? He hath stayed for a better man than thee. And must I go to him? Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve the turn.

Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! Exit! Now will he be swinged for reading my letter, an unmannerly slave that will thrust himself into secrets. I'll after to rejoice in the boy's correction. Exit. Scene two.

The same. The Duke's Palace. Enter Duke and Thurio. Thurio, fear not but that she will love you. Now Valentine is banished from her sight. Since his exile, she hath despised me most. Forsorn my company and railed at me. that I am desperate of obtaining her.

This weak, impressive love, is as a figure trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, and worthless Valentine shall be forgot. And her Proteus. How now, Sir Proteus, is your countryman, according to our proclamation, gone?

Gone, my good lord. My daughter takes his going grievously. A little time. my lord will kill that grief. So I believe, but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, for thou hast shown some sign of good dessert, makes me the better to confer with thee.

Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, let me not live to look upon your grace. Thou dost how willingly I would affect the match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. I do, my lord. And also I think, thou art not ignorant how she opposes her against my will. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.

Aye, and perversely she perseveres so. What might we do to make the girl forget the love of Valentine and loves her thudio? The best way is to slander Valentine with falsehood, cowardice and poor descent, three things that women highly hold in hate. Aye, but you'll think that it is, he spoke in hate.

Aye, if his enemy deliver it, therefore it must with circumstance be spoken by one whom she esteemeth as his friend. Then you must undertake to slander him. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do. Tis an ill office for a gentleman, especially, against his very friend. Where your good word cannot advantage him, your slander never can endamage him, Therefore the office is indifferent, being entreated to it by your friend. You have prevailed, my lord.

If I can do it by aught that I can speak in his disprays, she shall not long continue love to him. But say this weed her love from Valentine, it follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, lest it should ravel and be good to none, you must provide to bottom it on me, which must be done by praising me as much as you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.

And Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, because we know on Valentine's report, you are already love's firm votary, and cannot soon revolt and change your mind. Upon this warrant shall you have access, where you with Sylvie may confer at large, for she is lumpy, heavy, melancholy, and for your friend's sake will be glad of you, where you may temper her by your persuasion to hate young valentine and love my friend as much as i can do i will affect but you sir thurio are not sharp enough you must lay lime to tangle her desires by wailful sonnets whose composed rhymes should be full fraught with serviceable vows ay much is the force of heaven-bred poetry say that upon the altar of her beauty. You sacrifice your tears, your size, your heart. Right till your ink be dry, and with your tears moist it again, and frame some feeling line that may discover such integrity. For Orpheus's lute was strung with poet's sinews, whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,

make tigers tame and huge Leviathans forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire lamenting eulogies, visit by night your lady's chamber window with some sweet concert. To their instruments tune a deploring dump. The night's dead silence will well become such sweet complaining grievance. this, or else nothing, will inherit her. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice. Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,

let us into the city presently to sort some gentlemen well-skilled in music. I have a sonnet that will serve the turn to give the onset to thy good advice. About it, gentlemen. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper, and afterward determine our proceedings. Even now about it, I will pardon you. Excient. End of Act 3.

Act 4 of the two gentlemen of Verona. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare. Act 4. Scene 1. The Frontiers of Mantua, a forest. Enter certain outlaws. fellows stand fast i see a passenger

if there be ten shrink not but down with them enter valentine and speed stand sir and throw us what you have about ye if not we'll make you sit and rifle you sir we are undone these are the villains that all the travellers do fear so much are my friends that's not so sir we are your enemies peace we'll hear him ay by my beard will we for he's a proper man then know that i have little wealth to lose a man i crossed with adversity my riches are these poor habiliments of which if you should hear disfurnish me you take the sum and substance that i have whither travel you to verona which came you from millen have you have you long sojourned there Some sixteen months, and longer might have stayed if crooked fortune had not thwarted me. Were you banished since?

I was. For what offense? For that which now torments me to rehearse, I killed a man whose death I much repent. But yet I slew him manfully in fight, without false vantage or basic. treachery. Why, near repentant if it were done so, but were you banished for so small a fault? I was and held me glad of such a doom.

Have you the tongues? My youthful travel therein made me happy, or else I often had been miserable. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, this fellow were a king for our wild faction. We'll have him. Sir's, a word. Master, be one of them. It's an honorable kind of thievery.

Peace, villain! Tell us this. Have you anything to take to? Nothing but my fortune. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, such as the fury of ungoverned youth thrust from the company of awful men. Myself was from Verona banished, for practicing to steal away a lady, an heir, and near allied unto the Duke. And I, from Mantua, for a gentleman who, in my mood, I stabbed unto the heart.

And I, for such petty crimes as ease, but to the purpose, for we cite our faults that they may hold excuse our lawless lives. And partly, seeing you are beautified with goodly shape and by your own report,

a linguist and a man of such perfection as we do in our quality much want. Indeed, because you are a Man, therefore above the rest we parley to you. Are you content to be our general? To make a virtue of necessity and live, as we do in this wilderness. What sayest thou? Will thou be of our consort? Say I, and be the captain of us all.

We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee. Love thee is our commander and our king. But if they scorn our courtesy, they die'st. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offered. I take your offer and we'll live with you, provided that you do no outrages on silly women or poor passengers. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us. We'll bring thee to our cruise and show thee all the treasure we have got, which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

Xient Scene 2. Milan. Outside the Duke's palace, under Sylvia's Chilvieus chamber. Enter Proteus. Already I have been false to Valentine, and now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the color of commending him, I have access my own love to prefer. But Sylvia is too fair, too true, too wholly to be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

When I protest true loyalty to her, she twits me. with my falsehood to my friend. When, to her beauty I commend my vows, she bids me think how I have been forsworn in breaking faith with Julia, whom I loved. And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, the least whereof would quell a lover's hope, yet, spaniel-like,

the more she spurns my love, the more it grows, and fawneth on her still. But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, and give some evening music to her ear. Enter Thurio and musicians. How now, Sir Brotius, are you crept before us? Aye, gentle Thurio, for you know that love will creep in service where it cannot go. Aye, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

Sir, but I do, or else I would be hence. Who? Sylvia? Aye, Sylvia. For your sake. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, let's tune and do it lustily a while. Enter at a distance, host and Julia in boys' clothes. Now, my young guest, methinks your alley-cholly. I pray you, why is it?

Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Come, we'll have you merry. I'll bring you where you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for. But shall I hear him speak? Aye, that you shall. That will be music. Music plays. Hark, hark!

Is he among these? Aye, but peace. Let's hear him. Song. Who is Sylvia? What is she that all our swains commend her? Holy, fair and wise is she The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admire it be

Is she kind as she is fair For beauty lives with kindness Love doth to her eyes repair To help him of his blindness And being helped in habits there Then to Sylvia let us sing that Sylvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing

upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us garland spring. How now? Are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? The music likes you not. You mistake. The musician likes me not.

Why, my pretty youth? He plays false father. How? Out of tune on the strings? Not so, but yet so false that he grieves my very heart strings. You have a quick ear. Aye, I would I were deaf. It makes me have a slow heart. I perceive you delight not in music.

Not a wit when it jars so. Hark! What fine changes in the music? Aye, that change is the spite. You would have them always play but one thing? I would always have one play but one thing. But, host, does this Sir Proteus that we talk on often resort unto this gentlewoman? I'll tell you what Launce his man told me. He loved her out of all Nick.

Where is Launce? Gone to seek his dog, which, tomorrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. Peace! Stand aside the company parts. Sir Thurio, fear not you. I will so plead that you shall say my cunning drift excels. Where meet we? At St. Gregory's well. Farewell. Exci and Thurio and musicians.

Enter Sylvia above. Madam, good even. to your ladyship. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that that spake? One lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, you would quickly learn to know him, by his voice. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. What's your will? That I may compass yours. You have your wish. My will is even this, that presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man. Think'st thou, I am so shallow,

so conceitless to be seduced by thy flattery that has deceived so many with thy vows? Return, return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night, I swear I am so far from granting thy request that I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, and by and by intend to chide myself even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady, but she is dead. Aside. O, twere false if I should speak it, for I am sure she is not buried. Say that she be, yet Valentine, thy friend,

survives, to whom thy husband, self art witness, I am betrothed, and art thou not ashamed to wrong him with thy importunity? I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. And so suppose am I, for in his grave assure thyself my love is buried. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence, or at the least in hers sepulcathine. Aside. He heard not that.

Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Bouch safe me yet, Your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your chamber, To that I'll speak, To that I'll sigh and weep, For since the substance of your perfect self is else devoted, I am but a shadow,

And to your shadow, Will I make true love? aside if twere a substance you would sure deceive it and make it but a shadow as i am i am very loath to be your idol sir but since your falsehood shall become you well to worship shadows and adore false shapes send to me in the morning and i'll send it and so good rest as wretches have o'er night that wait for execution in the morn axiant proteus and sylvia severally host will you go oh by my halidom i was fast asleep pray you where lies sir proteus mary at my house trust me i think tis almost day not so but it hath been the longest night that ere I watched, and the most heaviest. Eccient.

Scene three. The same. Enter Eglomor. This is the hour that Madam Sylvia entreated me to call and know her mind. There's some great matter she'll employ me in. Madam, Madam. Enter Sylvia above.

Who calls? Your servant and your friend. One that attends your ladyship's command. Sir Eglamour a thousand times good morrow As many worthy lady to yourself According to your ladyship's impose I am thus early come to know what service It is your pleasure to command me in

O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not, valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplished Thou art not ignorant What's dear goodwill I bear unto the banished valentine nor how my father would enforce me marry vain Thurio whom my very soul abhors. Thyself hast loved, and I have heard thee say no grief did ever come so near thy heart, as when thy lady and thy true love died, upon whose grave thou vouched pure chastity.

Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, to Mantua, where I hear he makes abode, and for the ways are dangerous to pass, I do desire, that, worthy company upon whose faith and honor I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglomor, but think upon my grief, a lady's grief, and on the justice of my flying hands to keep me from a most unholy match, which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues. I do desire thee, even from a heart, as full of sorrows as the sea of sands, to bear me company, and go with me. If not,

to hide what I have said to thee that I may venture to depart alone. Madam, I pity much your grievances, which since I know they virtuously are placed, I give consent to go along with you, wrecking as little what betideth me as much I wish all good before you knew. When will you go? This evening, coming. Where shall I meet you? At Friar Patrick's cell, where I intend holy confession. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.

Good morrow. Kind, Sir Eglamour. Excient severally. Scene four. The same. Enter Lonce with his dog. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard. One that I brought up of a puppy.

One that I saved from drowning when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Sylvia from my master. And I came no sooner into the dining chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capin's leg. Oh, tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies. I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for it. Sure as I live he had suffered for it, you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company

of three or four gentlemen-like dogs under the Duke's table. He had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. Out with the dog, says one. What cur is that, says another. Whip him out, says the third. Hang him up, says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew that it was crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs.

Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip the dog? I, marry, do I, quoth he. You do him the more wrong, quote I. "'Twas I did the thing you wot of. "'He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. "'How many masters would do this for his servant? "'Nay, I'll be sworn. "'I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen,

"'otherwise he had been executed. "'I have stood on the pillory for geese he had killed, "'otherwise he had suffered for it. "'Thou thinks not of this now. "'Nay, I will. remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Sylvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?

Enter Proteus and Julia. Sebastian is thy name. I like thee well, and we'll employ thee in some service presently. In what you please, I'll do what I can. I hope thou wilt. To lance. How now, you horse and peasant? Where have you been these two days loitering? Mary, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the dog you bade me. And what says she to my little jewel? Mary, she says your dog was a curr, and tells you curish thanks is good enough for such a present. But she received my dog? No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again. What, didst thou offer her this from me?

Aye, sir. The other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman boys in the marketplace, and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Go get thee hence, and find my dog again, or near return again into my sight. Away, I say. Stay. Stay. Thou'est thou to vex me here? Exet Lance. A slave that's still an end, turns me to shame. Sebastian, I have entertained thee, partly that I have need of such a youth that can,

with some discretion, do my business, for tis no trusting to yand, foolish lout, but chiefly for thy face, and thy behaviour, which, if my augury, deceive me not, witness good bringing up fortune and truth. Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. Go presently and take this ring with thee. Deliver it to Madame Sylvia. She loved me well, delivered it to me. It seems you loved not her to leave her token.

She is dead, belike. Not so. I think she lives. Alas! Why dost thou cry, alas! I cannot choose but pity her. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? Because methinks that she loved you as well as you do love your Lady Sylvia. She dreams of him that has forgot her love.

You dote on her that cares not for your love. Tis pity love should be so contrary, and thinking of it makes me cry, alas. Well, give her that ring, and they're with all this letter. That's her chamber. Tell, my lady, I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Your message done, high home unto my chamber, where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit! How many women would do such a message!

Alas, poor Proteus! Thou hast entertained a fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs! Alas, poor fool! Why do I pity him that with his very heart despite me. Because he loves her, he despiseth me. Because I love him, I must pity him. This ring I gave him when he parted from me to bind him to remember my good-will. And now am I unhappy messenger to plead for that which I would not obtain, to carry that which I would have refused, to praise his faith which I would have dispraised. I am my master's true confirmed.

love, but cannot be true servant to my master, unless I prove false traitor to myself. Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly as heaven it knows I would not have him speed. Enter Sylvia, attended. Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you, be my mean to bring me where to speak with Madame Sylvia. What would you with her, if that I be she? If you be she, I do entreat your patience to hear me, speak the message I am sent on.

From whom? From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. Oh, he sends you for a picture. Aye, madam. Ursula, bring my picture here. Go. Give your master this. Tell him from me,

one Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, would better fit his chamber than this shadow. Madam, please you peruse this letter. Pardon me, madam, I have unadvised delivered you a paper that I should not. this is the letter to your ladyship. I pray thee, let me look on that again. It may not be. Good madam, pardon me. But there, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines.

I know they are stuffed with protestations, and full of newfound oaths, which he will break as easily as I do tear his paper. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. The more shame for him that he sends at me, for I have heard him say a thousand times his Julia gave it him and his departures. Archer. Though his boss' finger have profaned the ring, mine shall not do his, Julia, so much wrong.

She thanks you. What says that? I thank you, madam, that you tender her. Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much. Dost thou know her? Almost as well as I do know myself. To think upon her woes, I do protest that I have wept a hundred several times. Elike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.

I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. Is she not passing fair? She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. When she did think my master loved her well, she in my judgment was as fair as you. But since she did neglect her looking-glass And threw her sun expelling mask away, The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks,

And pinched the lily tincture of her face, That now she has become as black as I. How tall was she? "'About my stature, for at Pentecost, when all our pageants of delight were played, "'Our youth got me to play the woman's part, and I was trimmed in Madame Julia's gown, "'which served me as fit by all men's judgments as if the garment had been made for me. "'Therefore I know she is about my height, and at that time I made her weep a good, "'for I did play a lamentable part.

"'Madame, twas ariadne, passioning for Theseus perjury and unjust flight, which I so lively acted with my tears that my poor mistress moved therewithal, wept bitterly, and would I might be dead if I in thought felt not her very sorrow? She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. Alas, poor lady, desolate and left, I weep myself to think upon thy words. Here, youth, there is my purse. I give thee this for thy sweet Mr.

"'because thou lovest her. "'Farewell.' "'Exit Sylvia with attendance. "'And she shall thank you for it "'if ere you know her. "'A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful. "'I hope my master's suit will be but cold "'since she respects my mistress's love so much.

"'Alas, how love can trifle with itself! "'Here is her picture. "'Let me see. "'I think, if I had such attire, this face of mine were full as lovely as is this of hers. And yet, the painter flattered her a little, unless I flatter with myself too much. Her hair is Auburn, mine is perfect yellow. If that be all the difference in his love I'll get me such a coloured peri-wig. Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine. I, but her forehead's low,

and minds as high. What should it be that he respects in her, but that I can make respect of in myself, if this fond love were not a blinded God? Come, shadow, come and take this shadow up, for tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, thou shalt be worshipped, kissed, loved, and adored.

And were there sense in his idolatry, my substance should be statute in thy stead. I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress's sake That used me so Or else by Jove I vow I should have scratched out your unseeing eyes To make my master out of love with thee Exit

End of Act 4 Act 5 of the two gentlemen of Verona This Libervox recording is in the public domain The Two Gentlemen of Verona By William Shakespeare Act 5 Scene 1 Milan and Abbey

Enter Eglomore The sun begins to gild the western sky And now it is about the very hour that Sylvia At Friar Patrick Sel should meet me She will not fail For lovers break not hours Unless it be to come before their time So much they spur their expedition

See where she comes? Enter Sylvia Lady a happy evening. Amen, amen. Go on, good Egglamour, out at the postern by the Abbey Wall. I fear I am attended by some spies.

Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off. If we recover that, we are sure enough. Excient. Scene two. The same. The Duke's Palace. Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia.

Sir Proteus, what says Sylvia? to my suit. Oh, sir, I find her milder than she was, and yet she takes exceptions at your person. What, that my leg is too long? No, that it is too little. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. Aside, but love will not be spurred to what it loathes. What says she to my face? She says, it is a fair one. Nay, then, the wanton lies. My face is black. But pearls are fair, and the old saying is,

Black men are pearls in beauteous lady's eyes. Aside, tis true. Such pearls as put out ladies' eyes, For I had rather wink than look on them. How likes she my discourse? Ill when you talk of war. But well when I discourse of love and peace? Aside.

But better indeed when you hold your peace. What says she to my valour? Oh, sir, she makes no doubt of that. Aside, she needs naught when she knows it cowardice. What says she to my birth? That you are well derived. Aside, true, from a gentleman to a fool. Consider she my possessions?

Oh, I, and pities them. Wherefore? Aside, that such an ass should owe them. That they are out by lease. Here comes the Duke. Enter Duke. How now, sir, Proteus. How now, Thurio.

Which of you saw Sir Iglamour of late? Not I. Nor I. Saw you my daughter? Neither. Why, then? She's fled under that peasant Valentine, and Eglamour is in her company.

"'Tis true, for Fry and Lawrence met them both, "'as he in penance wandered through the forest. "'Him he knew well, and guessed that it was she, "'but being masked he was not sure of it. "'Besides, she did intend confession at St. Patrick's celled this even, "'and there she was not. "'These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. "'Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,

"'but mount you presently and meet with me "'upon the rising with a mountain foot, that leads towards Mantua, whether they are fled. Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl that flies her fortune when it follows her. I'll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour than for the love of reckless Sylvia. Exit.

And I will follow, more for Sylvia's love than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. Exit. And I will follow. More to cross that love than hate for Sylvia that is gone for love. Exit Scene 3 The Frontiers of Mantua, the Forest Enter Outlaws with Sylvia.

Come, come, be patient. We must bring you to our captain. A thousand more mischances than this one have learned me how to brook this patiently. Come, bring her away. Where is a gentleman that was with her? Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us. But Moises and Valerius follow him. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood.

There is our captain. We'll follow him that's fled. The thicket is beset. He cannot escape. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave. Fear not. He bears an honourable mind, and will not use a woman lawlessly. Ha ha ha ha.

O Valentine, this I endure for thee. EXient Scene 4. Another part of the forest. Enter Valentine. How used to breed a habit in a man? This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,

and to the nightingales complaining notes tune my distresses and record my woes. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenetless, Lest growing ruinous the building fall and leave no memory of what it was. Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia, thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain. What halloing and what stir is this to-day? These are my mates that make their wills their law. Have some unhappy passenger in chase. They love me well, yet I have much to do to keep them from uncivil outrageous.

Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here? Enter Proteus, Sylvia, and Julia. Madam, this service I have done for you, though you respect, not ought your servant death, to hazard life and rescue from him that would have forced your honor and your love. Vouch save me for my mead, but one fair look. A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, and less than this I am sure you cannot give.

Aside. How like a dream is this I see and hear. Love lend me patience to forbear a while. oh miserable unhappy that i am unhappy were you madam ere i came but by my coming i have made you happy by thy approach thou makest me most unhappy aside and me when he approacheth to your presence had i been seized by a hungry lion i would have been a breakfast to the beast rather than have false proteus rescue me oh heaven be judge how i love valentine whose life's as tender to me as my soul and full as much for more there cannot be i do detest false perjured brodieus therefore be gone solicit me no more what dangerous action stood it next to death would i not undergo for one calm look o tis the curse in love and still approved when women cannot love where there be love when proteus cannot love where he's beloved read over julia's heart thy first best love for whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith into a thousand oaths

and all those oaths descended into perjury to love me. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou's two, and that's far worse than none. Better have none than plural faith, which is too much by one. Thou counterfeit to thy true friend. In love, who respects friend? All men, but proteus. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words

can no way change you to a milder form. I'll woo you like a soldier at arm's end, and love you against the nature of love. Force ye. Oh, heaven! I'll force thee, yield to my desire. Ruffian, let go that rude, uncivil touch. Thou friend of an ill fashion?

Valentine. Thou common friend. That's without faith or love. for such is a friend now. Treacherous man! Thou hast beguiled my hopes! naught but mine eye could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say I have one friend alive.

Thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted when one's own right hand is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, but count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest, O time most accursed, amongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! My shame and guilt confounds me.

Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tendered here. I do as truly suffer, as ere I did commit. then i am paid and once again i do receive thee honest who by repentance is not satisfied is nor of heaven nor earth for these are pleased by penitence the eternal's wrath appeased and that my love may appear plain and free all that was mine in sylvia i give thee o me unhappy swoons look to the boy Why, boy! Why, wag! How now? What's the matter? Look up! Speak!

Oh, good sir! My master charged me to deliver a ring to Madame Sylvia, which out of my neglect was never done. Where is that ring, boy? Here tis. This is it. How, let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. Oh, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook. This is the ring you sent. to Sylvia. But how cam'st thou by this ring? At my depart I gave this unto Julia.

And Julia herself did give it me, and Julia herself hath brought it hither. How? Julia! Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, and entertained him deeply in her heart. How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root? O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush. Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me such an immodest raiment, If shame live in a disguise of love.

It is the lesser blot modesty finds, Women to change their shapes than men their minds. Than men their minds, tis true. O heaven, were man but constant, he were perfect, that one error fills him with faults makes him run through all the sins in constancy falls off ere it begins what is in sylvia's face but i may spy more fresh in julia's with a constant eye come come a hand from either let me be blessed to make this happy close twere pity two such friends should be long foes bear witness Heaven, I have my wish Forever. And I'm mine. Enter

Outlaws with Duke and Thurio. A prize. A prize. A prize. A prize. Forbear, forbear, I say, it is my lord the Duke. Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced. Banish at Valentine. Sir Valentine. Honder is Sylvia, and Sylvia's mine. Furio, give back or else embrace thy death. Come not within the measure of my wrath.

Do not name Sylvia thine. If once again Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands, take but possession of her with a touch. I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I. I hold him but a fool that will endanger his body for a girl that loves him not. I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. The mortared degenerate and base out thou, to make such means for her as thou hast done,

and leave her on such slight conditions. Now, by the honour of my ancestry, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, and think thee worthy of an empress love. No, then, I here forget all former griefs, cancel or grudge, repeal thee home again, plead a new state in thy unrivalled merit, to which I thus subscribe, Sir Valentine, thou art a gentleman and well derived. Take thou, my Sylvia, for thou hast deserved her. I thank your grace. The gift hath made me happy. I now beseech you for your daughter's sake to grant one boon that I shall ask of you. I grant it, for thine own whate'er it be. These banished men that I have kept with all, are men.

and endued with worthy qualities. Forgive them what they have committed here, and let them be recalled from their exile. They are reformed, civil, full of good, and fit for great employment, worthy, Lord. Thou hast prevailed. I pardoned them and thee. Dispose of them as thou knowest their deserts.

Come, let us go. We will include all jars with triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. And as we walk along, I dare be bold with our discourse to make your grace to smile. What think you of this page, my lord? I think the boy hath grace in him. He blushes. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.

What mean you by that saying? Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, That you will wonder what hath fortunate. Come, Proteus, tis your penance but to hear the story of your loves discover it. That done, I'll. Our day of marriage shall be yours. One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. Exeunt.

End of Act 5. End of the two gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare.