[Enter VALENTINE and SPEED]
- Speed. Sir, your glove.
- Speed. Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.
- Valentine. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine:
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah, Silvia, Silvia!
- Speed. Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!
- Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
- Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
- Valentine. Well, you'll still be too forward.
- Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.
- Valentine. Go to, sir: tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?
- Speed. She that your worship loves?
- Valentine. Why, how know you that I am in love?
- Speed. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms,
like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a
robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had
the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had
lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had
buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes
diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to
speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were
wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you
walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you
fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you
looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you
are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look
on you, I can hardly think you my master.
- Valentine. Are all these things perceived in me?
- Speed. They are all perceived without ye.
- Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you
were so simple, none else would: but you are so
without these follies, that these follies are within
you and shine through you like the water in an
urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a
physician to comment on your malady.
- Valentine. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?
- Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper?
- Valentine. Hast thou observed that? even she, I mean.
- Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.
- Valentine. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet
knowest her not?
- Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir?
- Valentine. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.
- Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
- Speed. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured.
- Valentine. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.
- Speed. That's because the one is painted and the other out
of all count.
- Valentine. How painted? and how out of count?
- Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no
man counts of her beauty.
- Valentine. How esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.
- Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.
- Speed. Ever since you loved her.
- Valentine. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I
see her beautiful.
- Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
- Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes;
or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to
have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going
- Speed. Your own present folly and her passing deformity:
for he, being in love, could not see to garter his
hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.
- Valentine. Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
- Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you,
you swinged me for my love, which makes me the
bolder to chide you for yours.
- Valentine. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
- Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.
- Valentine. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to
one she loves.
- Speed. Are they not lamely writ?
- Valentine. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace!
here she comes.
- Speed. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.
- Valentine. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.
- Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even! here's a million of manners.
- Silvia. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
- Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest and she gives it him.
- Valentine. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in
But for my duty to your ladyship.
- Silvia. I thank you gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.
- Valentine. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
For being ignorant to whom it goes
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
- Silvia. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
- Valentine. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write
Please you command, a thousand times as much; And yet—
- Silvia. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it; and yet I care not;
And yet take this again; and yet I thank you,
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
- Speed. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another 'yet.'
- Valentine. What means your ladyship? do you not like it?
- Silvia. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
But since unwillingly, take them again.
Nay, take them.
- Silvia. Ay, ay: you writ them, sir, at my request;
But I will none of them; they are for you;
I would have had them writ more movingly.
- Valentine. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
- Silvia. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over,
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
- Valentine. If it please me, madam, what then?
- Silvia. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:
And so, good morrow, servant.
- Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
My master sues to her, and she hath
taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard a better,
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write
- Valentine. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?
- Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.
- Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.
- Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.
- Speed. By a letter, I should say.
- Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to
yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?
- Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you perceive
- Valentine. She gave me none, except an angry word.
- Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
- Valentine. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
- Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.
- Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.
- Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can
feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my
victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like
your mistress; be moved, be moved.