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"Oh, could their mafter come and go as lightly, "Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying: "My herald thoughts in thy pure bofom reft them, "While I, their king, that thither them importune, "Do curfe the grace, that with fuch grace hath bleft them, "Because myself do want my fervant's fortune;
"I curfe myself, for they are fent by me,
"That they should harbour, where their lord would be."
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
I ever bore my daughter or thy felf:
gone, I will not hear thy vain excufe,
But as thou lov'ft thy life, make speed from hence.
VAL. And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself: And Silvia is myself; banifh'd from her,
Is felf from felf: a deadly banishment !
Enter Protheus and Launce.
PRO. Run, boy, run, run, and feek him out.
PRO. What feeft thou?
LAUN. Him we go to find:
There's not an hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
PRO. Who then; his spirit?
PRO. What then?
LAUN. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?
PRO. Whom wouldst thou strike?
PRO. Villain, forbear.
LAUN. Why, Sir, I'll strike nothing; I pray you➡
VAL. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news; So much of bad already hath poffeft them.
PRO. Then in dumb filence will I bury mine;
PRO. No, Valentine.
VAL. No Valentine, indeed, for facred Silvia ! Hath fhe forfworn me?
PRO. No, Valentine.
VAL. No Valentine, if Silvia hath forfworn me! What is your news?
LAUN. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. PRO. That thou art banith'd; oh, that is the news,
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
PRO. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom,
That to clofe prifon he commanded her,,
VAL. No more; unless the next word, that thou speak'st, Have fome malignant power upon my life;
If fo, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
PRO. Ceafe to lament for that thou canst not help,
And study help for that which thou lament'st.
VAL. I pray thee, Launce, an' if thou feeft my boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the north-gate. PRO. Co, Sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. VAL. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Valentine and Protheus. SCENE
LAUN. 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 goffips; yet 'tis a maid, for fhe is her master's maid, and ferves for wages: fhe hath more qualities than a water-fpaniel, which is much in a bare chriftian. Here is the cat log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions; imprimis, she can fetch and carry; why a horfe can do no more; nay, a horfe cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore she is better than a jade. Item, she can milk, look you, a fweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.
SPEED. How now, fignior Launce? what news with your mastership?
LAUN. With my mafter's fhip? why, it is at fea.
SPEED. Well, your old vice ftill; miftake the word: what news then in your paper?
LAUN. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.
SPEED. Why, man, how black?
LAUN. Why, as black as ink.
SPEED. Let me read them.
LAUN. Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou can't not read.
LAUN. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
LAUN. O illiterate loiterer, it was the fon of thy grandmother; this proves, that thou can'ft not read.
SPEED. Come, fool, come, try me in thy paper.