William Shakespeare : Complete Collection (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry...). William Shakespeare

you) well favor’d.

      Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favor infinite.

      Speed. That’s because the one is painted, and the other out of all count.

      Val. How painted? and how out of count?

      Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.

      Val. How esteem’st thou me? I account of her beauty.

      Speed. You never saw her since she was deform’d.

      Val. How long hath she been deform’d?

      Speed. Ever since you lov’d her.

      Val. I have lov’d her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful.

      Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.

      Val. Why?

      Speed. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes, or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter’d!

      Val. What should I see then?

      Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

      Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love—for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

      Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you swing’d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

      Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

      Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

      Val. Last night she enjoin’d me to write some lines to one she loves.

      Speed. And have you?

      Val. I have.

      Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

      Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.

       [Enter] Silvia.

      Peace, here she comes.

      Speed [Aside.] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her.

      Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.

      Speed [Aside.] O, give ye good ev’n! here’s a million of manners.

      Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

      Speed [Aside.] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.

       Val.

      As you enjoin’d me, I have writ your letter

      Unto the secret, nameless friend of yours;

      Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,

      But for my duty to your ladyship.

       Sil.

      I thank you, gentle servant—’tis very clerkly done.

       Val.

      Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;

      For being ignorant to whom it goes,

      I writ at random, very doubtfully.

       Sil.

      Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

       Val.

      No, madam; so it stead you, I will write

      (Please you command) a thousand times as much;

      And yet—

       Sil.

      A pretty period! Well—I guess the sequel;

      And yet I will not name it—and yet I care not—

      And yet take this again—and yet I thank you—

      Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

      Speed [Aside.]

      And yet you will; and yet another ‘yet.’

       Val.

      What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?

       Sil.

      Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ,

      But (since unwillingly) take them again.

      Nay, take them.

       Val.

      Madam, they are for you.

       Sil.

      Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request,

      But I will none of them; they are for you.

      I would have had them writ more movingly.

       Val.

      Please you, I’ll write your ladyship another.

       Sil.

      And when it’s writ, for my sake read it over,

      And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

       Val.

      If it please me, madam, what then?

       Sil.

      Why, if it please you, take it for your labor;

      And so good morrow, servant.

       Exit Silvia.

       Speed.

      O jest unseen, inscrutable; invisible,

      As a nose on a man’s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!

      My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,

      He being her pupil, to become her tutor.

      O excellent device, was there ever heard a better,

      That my master being scribe, to himself should write the letter?

      Val. How now, sir? What are you reasoning with yourself?

      Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; ’tis you that have the reason.

      Val. To do what?

      Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia.

      Val. To whom?

      Speed. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.

      Val. What figure?

      Speed. By a letter, I should say.

      Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?

      Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

      Val. No, believe me.

      Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest?

      Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.

      Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.

      Val. That’s the letter I writ to her friend.

      Speed. And that letter hath she deliver’d, and there an end.

      Val. I would