I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;
But yet I slew him manfully in fight,
Without false vantage, or base treachery.

1 Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so : But were you banish'd for so small a fault? Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 1 Out. Have you the tongues?1

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy; Or else I often had been miserable.

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,

This fellow were a king for our wild faction.
1 Out. We'll have him: sirs, a word.
Speed. Master, be one of them;

It is an honourable kind of thievery.
Val. Peace, villain!

2 Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take
to?

Val. Nothing, but my fortune.

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentle

men,

Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
Thrust from the company of awful2 men:
Myself was from Verona banished,
For practising to steal away a lady,
An heir, and near allied unto the duke.

2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, Whom, in my mood,3 I stabb'd unto the heart. 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these.

But to the purpose-(for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd 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;-

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,

(1) Languages.
(3) Anger, resentment.

(2) Lawful.

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?

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consórt?

Say, ay, and be the captain of us all :
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,
Love thee as our commander, and our king.

1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd.

Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; Provided that you do no outrages

On silly women, or poor passengers.

3 Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, And show thee all the treasure we have got ; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

Exeunt.

SCENE II-Milan. Court of the palace. Enter Proteus.

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
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 lov'd:
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips,!
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,

(1) Passionate reproaches.

The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her win-

dow,

And give some evening music to her ear.

Enter Thurio, and musicians.

Thu. How now, sir Proteus? are you crept before us?

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love

Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Thu. Ay, but, I hope, sir, that you love not here. Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. Thu. Whom? Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia-for your sake.

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentle

men,

Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in boy's clothes.

Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it?

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be

merry.

Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for.

Jul. But shall I hear him speak?

Host. Ay, that you shall.

Jul. That will be music.

Host. Hark! hark!

Jul. Is he among these?

[Music plays.

Host. Ay: but peace, let's hear 'em.

SONG.

Who is Silvia? What is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired 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 help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

Host. How now? are you sadder than you were before?

How do you, man? the music likes you not.
Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not.
Host. Why, my pretty youth?

Jul. He plays false, father.

Host. How? out of tune on the strings?
Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my

very heart-strings.

Host. You have a quick ear.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart.

Host. I perceive, you delight not in music.
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music!
Jul. Ay; that change is the spite.

Host. You would have them always play but one thing?

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing.

But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, Often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me,

he loved her out of all nick.1 Jul. Where is Launce? Host. Gone to seek his dog;

which, to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

Jul. Peace! stand aside! the company parts.
Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you! I will so plead,
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels.
Thu. Where meet we?

Pro. At saint Gregory's well.
Thu. Farewell.

[Exeunt Thurio and Musicians.

Silvia appears above, at her window.

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen: Who is that, that spake?

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,

You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.
Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Sil. What is
your will?

Pro.

That I may compass yours.
Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this,-
That presently you hie you home to bed.
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man!
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless,
To be seduced by thy flattery,

That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows?
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.
Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;

(1) Beyond all reckoning.