Two Gentlemen of Verona: Act 3

My gracious lord, that which I would discover
The law of friendship bids me to conceal,
But when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.

Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine my friend
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.

I know you have determined to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates,
And should she thus be stol’n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.

Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Which to requite command me while I live.

But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man—
A rashness that I ever yet have shunned—
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.

The tenor of them doth but signify
My health and happy being at your court.

No. Trust me, she is peevish, sullen, froward,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,
Neither regarding that she is my child
Nor fearing me as if I were her father

Then let her beauty be her wedding dower,
For me and my possessions she esteems not.

There is a lady in Verona here
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
And nought esteems my agèd eloquence.

If she do frown, ’tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you.

Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne’er so black, say they have angels’ faces.

Ay, but the doors be locked and keys kept safe,
That no man hath recourse to her by night.

But hark thee: I will go to her alone;
How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

Go, base intruder, overweening slave,
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates
And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence.

Go, base intruder, overweening slave,
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates
And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence.

I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.

Since his exile she hath despised me most,
Forsworn my company and railed at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

O, I have fed upon this woe already,
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her
With many bitter threats of biding there.

Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her
With many bitter threats of biding there.

Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her
With many bitter threats of biding there.

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 dolor.

Here, if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.

The time now serves not to expostulate.

O, my dear Sylvia! Hapless Valentine!

Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade.

Since his exile she hath despised me most,
Forsworn my company and railed at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?

DUKE: Then you must undertake to slander him.
PROTEUS: And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do.

Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
Being entreated to it by your friend.

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.

For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

After your dire-lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady’s chamber window
With some sweet consort; to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; the night’s dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.