SILVIA.
Dost thou know her?
JULIA.
Almost as well as I do know myself:
To think upon her woes, I do protest
That I have wept a hundred several times.
SILVIA.
Belike she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her.
JULIA.
I think she doth, and that’s her cause of sorrow.
SILVIA.
Is she not passing fair?
JULIA.
She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.
When she did think my master lov’d her well,
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;
But since she did neglect her looking-glass
And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
The air hath starv’d the roses in her cheeks
And pinch’d the lily-tincture of her face,
That now she is become as black as I.
SILVIA.
How tall was she?
JULIA.
About my stature; for at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play’d,
Our youth got me to play the woman’s part,
And I was trimm’d in Madam Julia’s gown,
Which served me as fit, by all men’s judgments,
As if the garment had been made for me:
Therefore I know she is about my height.
And at that time I made her weep agood;
For I did play a lamentable part.
Madam, ‘twas Ariadne passioning
For Theseus’ perjury and unjust flight;
Which I so lively acted with my tears
That my poor mistress, mov’d therewithal,
Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!
SILVIA.
She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.—
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
I weep myself, to think upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
For thy sweet mistress’ sake, because thou lov’st her.
Farewell.
JULIA.
And she shall thank you for’t, if e’er you know her.—
[Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS]
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!
I hope my master’s suit will be but cold,
Since she respects my mistress’ love so much.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
Here is her picture; let me see. I think,
If I had such a tire, this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers;
And yet the painter flatter’d her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:
If that be all the difference in his love,
I’ll get me such a colour’d periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;
Ay, but her forehead’s low, and mine’s as high.
What should it be that he respects in her
But I can make respective in myself,
If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For ‘tis thy rival. O thou senseless form!
Thou shalt be worshipp’d, kiss’d, lov’d, and ador’d,
And, were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I’ll use thee kindly for thy mistress’ sake,
That us’d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
I should have scratch’d out your unseeing eyes,
To make my master out of love with thee.
[Exit.]
ACT 5.
SCENE I. Milan. An abbey
[Enter EGLAMOUR.]
EGLAMOUR.
The sun begins to gild the western sky,
And now it is about the very hour
That Silvia at Friar Patrick’s cell should meet me.
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours
Unless it be to come before their time,
So much they spur their expedition.
See, where she comes.
[Enter SILVIA.]
Lady, a happy evening!
SILVIA.
Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,
Out at the postern by the abbey wall.
I fear I am attended by some spies.
EGLAMOUR.
Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;
If we recover that, we are sure enough.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE 2. The same. A room in the DUKE’S palace.
[Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA.]
THURIO.
Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?
PROTEUS.
O, sir, I find her milder than she was;
And yet she takes exceptions at your person.
THURIO.
What! that my leg is too long?
PROTEUS.
No; that it is too little.
THURIO.
I’ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.
JULIA.
[Aside] But love will not be spurr’d to what it loathes.
THURIO.
What says she to my face?
PROTEUS.
She says it is a fair one.
THURIO.
Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.
PROTEUS.
But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:
‘Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.’
JULIA.
[Aside] ‘Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies’ eyes;
For I had rather wink than look on them.
THURIO.
How likes she my discourse?
PROTEUS.
Ill, when you talk of war.
THURIO.
But well when