Already have I been false to Valentine,

4.2.41624And now I must be as unjust to Turio.

4.2.51625Under the color of commending him,

4.2.61626I have access my own love to prefer.

4.2.71627But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy

4.2.81628To be corrupted with my worthless gifts;

4.2.91629When I protest true loyalty to her,

4.2.101630She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;

4.2.111631When to her beauty I commend my vows,

4.2.121632She bids me think how I have been forsworn

4.2.131633In breaking faith with Julia, whom I loved;

4.2.141634And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,

4.2.151635The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,

4.2.161636Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,

4.2.171637The more it grows, and fawneth on her still;

4.2.181638But here comes Turio. Now must we to her window

4.2.191639And give some evening music to her ear.

How now, sir Proteus, are you crept before us?

Ay, gentle Turio, for you know that love

4.2.221642Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

Sir, but I do, or else I would be hence.

Who, Silvia?

Ay, Silvia, for your sake.

I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,

4.2.281648Let's tune, and to it lustily a while.

Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholy; 1650I pray you why is it?

Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.

Come, we'll have you merry. I'll bring you where 1653you shall hear music and see the gentleman that 1654you asked for.

But shall I hear him speak?

Ay, that you shall.

That will be music.

Hark, hark!

Is he among these?

Ay, but peace, let's hear'm.

4.2.57How now? Are you sadder than you were before? 1677How do you, man? The music likes you not.

You mistake: the musician likes me not.

Why, my pretty youth?

He plays false, father.

How, out of tune on the strings?

Not so, but yet 1683so false that he grieves my very heartstrings.

You have a quick ear.

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

I perceive you delight not in music.

Not a whit when it jars so.

Hark, what fine change is in the music.

Ay, that change is the spite.

You would have them always play but one thing.

I would always have one play but one thing.

4.2.711692But host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on

4.2.721693Often resort unto this gentlewoman?

I tell you what Lance his man told me: 1695he loved her out of all nick.

Where is Lance?

Gone to seek his dog, which tomorrow, by his 1698master's command, he must carry for a present to his 1699lady.

Peace. Stand aside, the company parts.

Sir Turio, fear not you. I will so plead 1702that you shall say my cunning drift excels.

Where meet we?

At Saint Gregory's well.

Farewell.

Madam, good even to your ladyship.

I thank you for your music, gentlemen.

4.2.841708Who is that that spake?

One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,

4.2.861710You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.

Sir Proteus, as I take it.

Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.

What's your will?

That I may compass yours.

You have your wish. My will is even this:

4.2.921716That presently you hie you home to bed,

4.2.931717Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man.

4.2.941718Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,

4.2.951719To be seduced by thy flattery,

4.2.961720That hast deceived so many with thy vows?

4.2.971721Return, return and make thy love amends.

4.2.981722For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,

4.2.991723I am so far from granting thy request

4.2.1001724That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,

4.2.1011725And by and by intend to chide myself

4.2.1021726Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady,

4.2.1041728But she is dead.

'Twere false, if I should speak it,

4.2.1061730For I am sure she is not buried.

Say that she be, yet Valentine thy friend

4.2.1081732Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,

4.2.1091733I am betrothed; and art thou not ashamed

4.2.1101734To wrong him with thy importunacy?

I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.

And so suppose am I, for in his grave

4.2.1131737Assure thy self my love is buried.

Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence,

4.2.1161740Or at the least in hers sepulcher thine.

[Aside.] He heard not that.

Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,

4.2.1191743Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,

4.2.1201744The picture that is hanging in your chamber.

4.2.1211745To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep,

4.2.1221746for since the substance of your perfect self

4.2.1231747Is else devoted, I am but a shadow,

4.2.1241748And to your shadow will I make true love.

[Aside.] If 'twere a substance you would sure deceive it,

4.2.1261750And make it but a shadow, as I am.

I am very loath to be your idol, sir;

4.2.1281752But since your falsehood shall become you well

4.2.1291753To worship shadows and adore false shapes,

4.2.1301754Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it.

4.2.1311755And so, good rest.

As wretches have o'er night

4.2.1331757That wait for execution in the morn.

Host, will you go?

By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

Marry, at my house. 1762Trust me, I think 'tis almost day.

4.2.1381763JuliaNot so, but it hath been the longest night

4.2.1391764That ere I watched, and the most heaviest.