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Val. Last night, she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves.
Speed. And have you?
Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them:-Peace, here she comes.
Enter Silvia. Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! now will he interpret to her.2
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows. Speed. O, 'give you good even! here's a million of
[Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, 3 to you two-thousand. Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter,
2 O excellent motion! &c.] Motion, in Shakspeare's time, signified puppet. In Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, it is frequently used in that sense, or rather, perhaps, to signify a puppet-show ; the master whereof may properly be said to be an interpreter, as being the explainer of the inarticulate language of the actors. The speech of the servant is an allusion to that practice; and he means to say, that Silvia is a puppet, and that Valentine is to interpret to, or rather for, her. " Sir F. Hawkins. So, in The City Match, 1639, by Jasper Maine:
his mother came,
“ To Brentford for a motion.". Again, in The Pilgrim :
Nothing but a motion? “ A puppet pilgrim ?"- Steevens. 3 Sir Valentine and servant,] Here Silvia calls her lover servant, and again below, her gentle servant. This was the language of ladies to their lovers, at the time when Shakspeare wrote. Sir F. Hawkins. So, in Marston's What you will, 1607: Sweet sister, let's sit in judgment a little; faith upon
my servant Monsieur Laverdure. “ Mel. Troth, well for a servant; but for a husband !"' Again, in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his Humour :
Every man was not born with my servant Brisk's features." Steevens.
But for my duty to your ladyship.
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.*
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;5
Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
Val, No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much:
Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
[Aside. Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it?
Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ:
Val. Madam, they are for you.
Sil. Ay, ay? you writ them, sir, at my request;
Val. Please you, I 'll write your ladyship another.
Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over: And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour;
'tis very clerkly done. ] i. e. like a scholar. So, in The Merry Wives of Windsor :
“ Thou art clerkly, sir John, clerkly.” Steevens.
it came hardly off;] A similar phrase occurs in Timon of Athens, Act I. sc. i: “ This comes of well and excellent.”
Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with your self?6 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the
reason. Val. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Val. To whom? Speed. To yourself; why, she wooes you by a figure. Val. What figure? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?
Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?
Val. No, believe me.
Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: But did you perceive her earnest?
Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. 7
Val. I would it were no worse.
Speed. I 'll warrant you, 'tis as well: For often you have 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 ;8 for in print I found it.
6 — reasoning with yourself?] That is discoursing, talking. An Italianism. Johnson. So, in the Merchant of Venice:
“ I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday.” Steevens.
-and there an end.] i. e. there's the conclusion of the matter. So, in Macbeth:
the times have been
“ And there an end.". Steevens.
not a hair “ About his bulk, but it stands in print.” Again, in The Portraiture of Hypocrisie, hl. I. 1589: “ — others lash out to maintaine their porte, which must needes bee in print.” Why muse you sir? 'tis dinner time.
Val. I have dined.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon 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. [E.reunt.
Verona. A room in Julia's House.
Enter PROTEUS and JULIA.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner:
[Giving a ring. Pro. Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand, for my true constancy; And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now: nay, not the tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should: [Exit JUL. Julia, farewel.—What! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Enter PanthINO. Pant. Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro. Go: I come, I come:Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.
Again, in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, edit. 1632, p. 539: “- he must speake in print, walk in print, eat and drinke in print, and that, which is all in all, he must be mad in print.” Steevens.
Laun. Nay, 'will be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault; I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother wecping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it: This shoe is my father;-no, this left shoe is my father;—no, no, this left shoe is my mother ;-nay, that cannot be so neither;-yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole; This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; A vengeance on’t! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid ; I am the dog:-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog, '—0, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (O that she could speak now!) like a
· I am the dog, &c.] A similar thought occurs in a play printed earlier than the present. See A Christian turn’d Turk, 1612:
you shall stand for the lady, you for her dog, and I the page; you and the dog looking one upon another; the page presents himself.” Steevens.
- I am the dog, &c.] This passage is much confused, and of confusion, the present reading makes no end. Sir T. Hanmer reads: I am the dog, no, the dog is himself, and I am me, the dog is the dog, and I am myself. This certainly is more reasonable ; but I know not how much reason the author intended to bestow on Launce's soliloquy. Johnson.