The DUKE's palace. Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS DUKE Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
We have some secrets to confer about.
Exit THURIO Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? PROTEUS My gracious lord, that which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
But when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, 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 stol'n 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. DUKE Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply when they have judged me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purposed to forbid Sir Valentine her company and my court:
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err And so unworthily disgrace the man, A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.
And, that thou mayst 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 convey'd away. PROTEUS Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend And with a corded 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 pretence. DUKE Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. PROTEUS Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming.
Exit Enter VALENTINE DUKE Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? VALENTINE Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. DUKE Be they of much import? VALENTINE The tenor of them doth but signify My health and happy being at your court. DUKE Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;
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 Sir Thurio to my daughter. VALENTINE I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him? DUKE No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, 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 have been cherish'd by her child-like 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. VALENTINE What would your Grace have me to do in this? DUKE There is a lady in Verona here Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor--For long agone I have forgot to court;
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed--How and which way I may bestow myself To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. VALENTINE 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. DUKE But she did scorn a present that I sent her. VALENTINE 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, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. DUKE 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. VALENTINE Why, then, I would resort to her by night. DUKE Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night. VALENTINE What lets but one may enter at her window? DUKE Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. VALENTINE 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. DUKE Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. VALENTINE When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. DUKE This very night; for Love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. VALENTINE By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. DUKE But, hark thee; I will go to her alone:
How shall I best convey the ladder thither? VALENTINE It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. DUKE A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? VALENTINE Ay, my good lord. DUKE Then let me see thy cloak:
I'll get me one of such another length. VALENTINE Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. DUKE How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!