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Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd. Pan. What's the unkindest tide?
Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth?
Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? 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 sighs.
Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan. Wilt thou go?
An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Of my mistress then.
Thu. So do counterfeits.
Thu. What seem I, that I am not?
Thu. What instance of the contrary?
Thu. And how quotel you my folly?
Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour?
Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of cameleon.
Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.
Val. You have said, sir.
Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.
Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.
Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
Sil. Who is that, servant?
Val. 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.
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. 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.
Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.
Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, 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. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country
Val Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a son?
Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well de
The honour and regard of such a father.
Val. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection;
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
(1) Ill betide.
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth ;
Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio :-
Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object love can wink.
Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus !-Mistress, I beseech you,
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Val. Leave off discourse of disability :
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
No; that you are worthless.
Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant. 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. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you
Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.
Val. And how do yours?
I left them all in health. Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your love?
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know, you joy not in a love-discourse.
Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high impericus thoughts have punish'd 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 chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's sor
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;