To die, is to be banish'd from myself ;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from felf: a deadly banishment !
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no mufick in the nightingale ;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin’d, cherish’d, kept alive.
. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom ;
Tarry I here, I but attend on death :
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter Protheus and Launce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho! fo-ho!
Pro. What feest thou?

Laun. Him we go to find :
There's not an hair

on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then ? his fpirit ? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing Laun. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike? Launc. Nothing

? I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom ;) To fly his doom, used for by flying, or in flying, is a galliciim. The sense is, By avoiding the execution of his sentence I shall not escape death. If I stay here, I suffer myself to be destroyed ; if I go away, I destroy myself. JOHNSON.

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Pro. Villain, forbear.
Launc. Why, Sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you-
Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear: friend Valentine, a word.

Val. Myears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news; So much of bad already hath posess’d them.

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine ;
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad,

Val. Is Silvia dead ?
Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !
Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! What is

your news? Launc. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are

vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish’d; oh, that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

l'al. Oh, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which unrevers’d stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe. But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-lhedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate fire ; But Valentine, if he be ta’en, muft die. Besides, her interceflion chaf'd him fo, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close priton he commanded her, With many bitter threats of 'biding there. Val. No more ; unless the next word, that thopi


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 see thy love;
Besides, 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, though 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 expostulate :
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate,
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.
As thou lov'st' Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an' if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haite, and meet me at the north-gate.

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine !

[Exeunt Valentine and Protheus. 8 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


3 Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of knave : but that's all one, if he be but one Knave.) Where is the sense ! or, if you won't allow the speaker that, where is the humour of this speech ? Nothing had given the fool occasion to suspect that his matter was become double, like Antipholis in the Comedy of Errors. The last word is corrupt.

We should read

-if he be but one KIND. He thought his matter was a kind of knave; however, he keeps himself in countenance with this reflection, that if he was a knave but of one kind, he might pass well enough amongst his neighbours. This is truly humourous. WARBURTON.

not now that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love ; but 9 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 milkmaid: yet ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips ; yet'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a waterspaniel, which is much in a bare christian. Here is the cat-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 she is better than a jade. Item, fie can milk, look you ; a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed. Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with

your mastership? Laun. 'With my master's ship? 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?

This alteration is acute and specious, yet I know not whether, in Shakespeare's language, one knave may not signify a knave on only one occasion, a single knave. We still use a double villain for a villain beyond the common rate of guilt.

JOHNSON -a team of horse shall not pluck-] I fee how Valentine fuffers for telling his love-secrets, therefore I will keep mine close. JOHNSON.

• In former editions it is, With my mastersip? why, it is at sea.] For how does Launce mistake the word ? Speed aks him about his masterthip, and he replies to it literatim. But then how was his maftership at sea, and on More tvo? The addition of a letter and a note of apostrophe make Launce both mistake the word, and sets the pun right: it reftores, indeed, but a mean joke; but, without it, there is no sense in the passage. Besides, it is in character with the rest of the scene; and, I dare be confident, the poet's own conceit. THEOBALD.



Laun. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them.
Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou can'ft not read.
Speed. Thou lyest, I can.
Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer ! it was the fon of thy grandmother: this proves, that thou can'st not read.

Speed. Cone, fool, come; try me in thy paper,
Laun. There; and a St. Nicholas be thy speed!
Speed. Imprimis, me 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 sew.
Laun. That's as much as to say, Can Be fo?

-St. Nicholas be thy speed!] St. Nicholas presided over scholars, who were therefore called St. Nicholas's clerks. Hence, by a quibble between Nicholas and Old Nick, highwaymen, in The Firsi Part of Henry the Fourth, are called Nicholas's clerks.

WARBURTON. That this faint presided over young scholars, may be gathered from Knight's Life of Dean Colet, p. 362. For by the statutes of Paul's school there inserted, the children are required to attend divine service at the cathedral on his anniversary. The reason I take to be, that the legend of this saint makes him to have been a bishop, while he was a boy. At Salisbury cathedral is a monument of a boy bishop; and it is said that a custom formerly prevailed there, of choosing, from among the chorifters, a bishop, who actually performed the pastoral functions, and disposed of such prebends as became vacant during his episcopacy, which lasted but a few days. It is thought that the monument above-mentioned was for some boy who died in office.--See The Posthumous Works of Mr. John Gregory, 4to. Oxon. HAWKINS.

So Puttenham, in his Art of Poetry, 1589. “ Methinks this “ fellow speaks like bishop Nicholas ; for on Saint Nicholas' " night commonly the scholars of the country make them a “ bishop, who, like a foolish boy, goeth about blessing and Fr preaching with such childish terms, as maketh the people " laugh at his foolish counterfeit speeches.” Steevens.


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