Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

Luc.

I cannot reach so high.

Jul.

Let’s see your song.

[Takes the letter.]

How now, minion?

Luc.

Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.

And yet methinks I do not like this tune.

Jul.

You do not?

Luc.

No, madam, ’tis too sharp.

Jul.

You, minion, are too saucy.

Luc.

Nay, now you are too flat,

And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:

There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

Jul.

The mean is drown’d with [your] unruly bass.

Luc.

Indeed I bid the base for Proteus.

Jul.

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 fing’ring them, to anger me.

Luc.

She makes it strange, but she would be best pleas’d

To be so ang’red with another letter.

[Exit.]

Jul.

Nay, would I were so ang’red with the same.

O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!

Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet 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.”

Poor wounded name: my bosom as a bed

Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal’d;

And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

But twice, or thrice, was “Proteus” written down:

Be calm, good wind, 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 twice writ,

“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 upon another;

Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.

[Enter Lucetta.]

Luc.

Madam,

Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

Jul.

Well, let us go.

Luc.

What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?

Jul.

If you respect them, best to take them up.

Luc.

Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;

Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

Jul.

I see you have a month’s mind to them.

Luc.

Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;

I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Jul.

Come, come, will’t please you go?

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Antonio and Panthino.

Ant.

Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that

Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

Pan.

’Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

Ant.

Why, what of him?

Pan.

He wond’red 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 these exercises

He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;

And did request me to importune 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.

Ant.

Nor need’st thou much importune me to that

Whereon this month I have been hammering.

I have consider’d well his loss of time,

And how he cannot be a perfect man,

Not being tried and tutor’d in the world:

Experience is by industry achiev’d,

And perfected by the swift course of time.

Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?

Pan.

I think your lordship is not ignorant

How his companion, youthful Valentine,

Attends the Emperor in his royal court.

Ant.

I know it well.

Pan.

’Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:

There shall he practice tilts and tournaments,

Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,

And be in eye of every exercise

Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

Ant.

I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis’d;

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.

Pan.

To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso

With other gentlemen of good esteem

Are journeying to salute the Emperor,

And to commend their service to his will.

Ant.

Good company; with them shall Proteus go—

[Enter] Proteus.

And in good time! now will we break with him.

Pro.

Sweet love, sweet lines, sweet life!

Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;

Here is her oath for love, her honor’s pawn:

O that our fathers would applaud our loves,

To seal our happiness with their consents!

O heavenly Julia!

Ant.

How now? what letter are you reading there?

Pro.

May’t please your lordship, ’tis a word or two

Of commendations sent from Valentine,

Deliver’d by a friend that came from him.

Ant.

Lend me the letter; let me see what news.

Pro.

There is no news, my lord, but that he writes

How happily he lives, how well-belov’d

And daily graced by the Emperor;

Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

Ant.

And how stand you affected to his wish?

Pro.

As one relying on your lordship’s will,

And not depending on his friendly wish.

Ant.

My will is something sorted with his wish:

Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;

For what I will, I will, and there an end.

I am resolv’d 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.

To-morrow be in readiness to go—

Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

Pro.

My lord I cannot be so soon provided:

Please you deliberate a day or two.

Ant.

Look what thou want’st shall be sent after thee.

No more of stay: to-morrow thou must go.

Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ’d

To hasten on his expedition.

[Exeunt Antonio and Panthino.]

Pro.

Thus have I shunn’d the fire for fear of burning,

And drench’d me in the sea, where I am drown’d.

I fear’d 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 excepted most against my love.

O, 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.

[Enter Panthino.]

Pan.

Sir Proteus, your [father] calls for you:

He is in haste; therefore I pray you go.