SONG

PROTEUS. Who is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us garlands bring.

HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? The music likes you not.

JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.

HOST. Why, my pretty youth?

JULIA. He plays false, father.

HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?

JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.

HOST. You have a quick ear.

JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.

HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.

JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.

HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!

JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.

HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?

JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing. But, host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, Often resort unto this gentlewoman?

HOST. I tell you what Lance, his man, told me: he loved her out of all nick.

JULIA. Where is Lance?

HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which tomorrow, by his master’s command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

JULIA. Peace, stand aside. The company parts.

PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead That you shall say my cunning drift excels.

THURIO. Where meet we?

PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory’s well.

THURIO. Farewell.

[ Exeunt Thurio and Musicians . ]

Enter Silvia above.

PROTEUS. Madam, good even to your ladyship.

SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that that spake?

PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart’s truth, You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.

SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.

PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.

SILVIA. What’s your will?

PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.

SILVIA. You have your wish. My will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man, Think’st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery, That hast deceived so many with thy vows? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, And by and by intend to chide myself Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady, But she is dead.

JULIA. [ Aside .] ’Twere false, if I should speak it, For I am sure she is not buried.

SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, I am betrothed. And art thou not ashamed To wrong him with thy importunacy?

PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.

SILVIA. And so suppose am I, for in his grave, Assure thyself, my love is buried.

PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

SILVIA. Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence, Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.

JULIA. [ Aside .] He heard not that.

PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your chamber; To that I’ll speak, to that I’ll sigh and weep; For since the substance of your perfect self Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; And to your shadow will I make true love.

JULIA. [ Aside .] If ’twere a substance you would sure deceive it And make it but a shadow, as I am.

SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; But since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows and adore false shapes, Send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it. And so, good rest.

[ Exit. ]

PROTEUS. As wretches have o’ernight That wait for execution in the morn.

[ Exit. ]

JULIA. Host, will you go?

HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think ’tis almost day.

JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night That e’er I watched, and the most heaviest.

[ Exeunt. ]