Val. No more, unless the next Word that thou speak'st

Have some malignant Power upon my Life:
If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine Ear,
As ending Anthem of my endless Dolour.

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
And study Help for that which thou lament'st.
Time is the Nurse and Breeder of all Good:
Here if thou stay, thou canst not fee thy Love;
Befides, thy staying will abridge thy Life.
Hope is a Lover's Staff, walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing Thoughts.
Thy Letters may be here, tho thou art hence,
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white Bosom of thy Love.
The time now serves not to expoftulate;
Come, I'll convey thee through the City-gate,
And, e'er I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy Love-affairs:
As thou lov'st Silvia, tho' not for thy felf,
Regard thy Danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee Launce, and if thou seest my Boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the North-Gate. Pro. Go Sirrah, find him out: Come Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt. 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 Teem 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 my self; and yet 'tis a Milk-maid; yet 'tis not a Maid, for she hath had Goffips; yet 'tis a Maid, for she is her Master's Maid, and ferves for Wages: She hath more Qualities than a Water-Spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the Cate-log [Pulling out a Paper] of her Conditions; Imprimis, She can fetch and carry; why a Horse can do no more, nay a Horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is the better than a Jade. Item, she can milk; look you, a sweet Virtue in a Maid with clean Hands.

Enter

Enter Speed.

Speed. How now Signior Launce? What News with your

Mastership?

Laun. With my Mastership? Why, it is at Sea.

Speed. Well, your old Vice still; mistake 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, Jolthead, thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou lieft, I can.

Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the Son of my Grand-father.
Laun. O illiterate Loiterer, it was the Son of thy

Grand-mother; this proves that thou canst not read.
Speed. Come Fool, come, try me in thy Paper.
Laun. There, and S. Nicholas be thy Speed.

Speed. Imprimis, she can milk.

Laun. Ay, that she can.

Speed. Item, she brews good Ale.

Laun. And therefore comes the Proverb, Blessing of your

Heart, you brew good Ale.

Speed. Item, she can fowe.

Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she so?

Speed. Item, she can knit.

Laun. What need a Man care for a Stock with a Wench,

When she can knit him a Stock?

Speed. Item, she can wash and scour.

Laun. A special Virtue, for then she need not to be wash'd and scour'd.

Speed. Item, she can spin.

Laun. Then may I set the World on Wheels, when she can spin for her living.

Speed. Item, she hath many nameless Virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to say Bastard Virtues, that indeed know not their Fathers, and therefore have no Names. Speed. Here follow her Vices.

Laun. Close at the Heels of her Virtues.

Speed. Item, she is not to be kist fasting, in respect of

her Breath.

Laun. Well, that Fault may be mended with a Breakfast: Read on.

Speed. Item, she hath a sweet Mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her four Breath.

Speed. Item, the doth talk in her Sleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her Talk.

Speed. Item, she is flow in Words.

Laun. Oh Villain! that fet down among her Vices!

To be flow in Words is a Woman's only Virtue:

I pray thee out with't, and place it for her chief Virtue.

Speed. Item, she is proud.

Laun. Out with that too:

It was Eve's Legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.

Speed. Item, the hath no Teeth.

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love Crufts.

Speed. Item, the is curst.

Laun. Well, the best is the hath no Teeth to bite.

Speed. Item, she will often praise her Liquor.

Laun. If her Liquor be good, the shall; if the will not

I will, for good things should be praised.

Speed. Item, she is too liberal.

Laun. Of her Tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is flow of; of her Purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut; now of another thing the may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

Speed. Item, she hath more Hairs, than Wit,, and more Faults than Hairs, and more Wealth than Faults.

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that Article. Rehearse that once

more.

Speed. Item, she hath more Hair than Wit.

Laun. More Hair than Wit; it may be I'll prove it: The Cover of the Salt hides the Salt, and therefore it is, more than the Salt; the Hair that covers the Wit is more than the Wit; for the greater hides the less. What's next?

Speed. And more Faults than Hairs.

Laun. That's monstrous: Oh that that were out.
Speed. And more Wealth than Faults.

Laun. Why that Word makes the Faults gracious: Well, I'll have her; and if it be a Match, as nothing is impoffible

Speed.

Speed. What then?

Laun. Why then will I tell thee, that thy Master stays

for thee at the North-Gate.

Speed. For me?

Laun. For thee? ay; who art thou? He hath staid for a better Man than thee.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Laun. Thou must run to him; for thou hast staid fo long that going will scarce ferve the turn.

Speed. Why didft not tell me fooner? Pox on your Love

Letters.

Laun. Now will he be swing'd for reading my Letter: An unmannerly Slave, that will thrust himself into Secrets.

I'll after, to rejoice in the Boy's Correction.

SCENE II.

Enter Duke and Thurio.

[Exeunt.

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that the will love you,

Now Valentine is banish'd from her Sight.

Thu. Since his Exile she hath defpis'd me most,

Forsworn my Company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

Duke. This weak Impress of Love, is as a Figure
Trenched in Ice, which with an Hour's Heat
Dissolves to Water, and doth lose his Form.
A little time will melt her frozen Thoughts,
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.

Enter Protheus.

How now, Sir Protheus; is your Countryman,
According to our Proclamation, gone?
Pro. Gone, my good Lord.

Duke. My Daughter takes his going heavily.
Pro. A little time, my Lord, will kill that Grief.
Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not fo.

Protheus, the good Conceit I hold of thee,
For thou haft shown some fign of good Defert,
Makes me the better to confer with thee.

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace,

Let me not live to look upon your Grace.
Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect

H 3

The

1

The Match between Sir Thurio and my Daughter.
Pro. I do, my Lord,

Duke. And also I do think thou art not ignorant
How the opposes her against my Will.

Pro. She did, my Lord, when Valentine was here,
Duke. Ay, and perversely she perseveres so.
What might we do to make the Girl forget
The Love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?

Pro. The best way is to flander Valentine
With Falfhood, Cowardise, and poor Descent:
Three things that Women highly hold in Hate.
Duke, Ay, but she'll think that it is spoken in Hate.
Pro. Ay, if his Enemy deliver it:
Therefore it must with Circumstance be spoken
By one whom she esteems as his Friend.

1

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him.
Pro. And that, my Lord, I shall be loath to do;

'Tis an ill Office for a Gentleman,

Especially against his very Friend.

Duke. Where your good Word cannot advantage him,

Your Slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the Office is indifferent,

Being intreated to it by your Friend.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my Lord: If I can do it,

By ought that I can speak in his Dispraise,
She shall not long continue Love to him.
But say this wean her Love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.
Thu. Therefore as you unwind her Love from him,

Lest it should ravel, and be good to none,
You must provide to bottom it on me:
Which must be done, by praising me as much
As you in Worth dispraise Sir Valentine.

Duke. And, Prothens, we dare trust you in this kind,

Because we know, on Valentine's Report,
You are already Love's firm Votary,
And cannot foon revolt and change your Mind.
Upon this Warrant shall you have Access,
Where you with Silvia may confer at large:
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
And, for your Friend's fake, will be glad of you;

Where