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Already have I been false to Valentine And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the colour of commending him, I have access my own love to prefer: But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think how I have been forsworn In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved: And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover’s hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, The more it grows and fawneth on her still. But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window, And give some evening music to her ear.
I’ve already betrayed Valentine, And now I have to betray Thurio too. Under the pretense of praising him, I’m using it as a chance to advance my own love: But Silvia is too beautiful, too pure, too virtuous, To be swayed by my worthless gifts. When I swear my loyalty to her, She reminds me of my betrayal of my friend; When I praise her beauty and vow my love, She tells me to remember how I broke my promise To Julia, whom I once loved: And even though all her sharp remarks, Each one of which could crush a lover’s hope, Like a loyal dog, the more she rejects my love, The more it grows, still trying to please her. But here comes Thurio: we must go to her window now, And play her some evening music.
How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?
What’s this, Sir Proteus, are you here ahead of us?
Ay, gentle Thurio: for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.
Yes, gentle Thurio: because you know that love Will sneak into service where it can’t reach otherwise.
Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Yes, but I hope, sir, that you don’t love here.
Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Sir, but I do; or else I would have left by now.
Who? Silvia?
Who? Silvia?
Ay, Silvia; for your sake.
Yes, Silvia; for your sake.
I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let’s tune, and to it lustily awhile.
I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let’s get ready, and play with enthusiasm for a while.
Now, my young guest, methinks you’re allycholly: I pray you, why is it?
Now, my young guest, you seem a bit down: I ask you, why is that?
Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
Well, my host, because I can’t seem to be happy.
Come, we’ll have you merry: I’ll bring you where you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.
Come, we’ll make you happy: I’ll take you to a place where you’ll hear music and see the man you asked for.
But shall I hear him speak?
But will I hear him speak?
Ay, that you shall.
Yes, you will.
That will be music.
That will be music.
Hark, hark!
Listen, listen!
Is he among these?
Is he among them?
Ay: but, peace! let’s hear ’em. SONG. 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 help’d, 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.
Yes, but quiet! Let’s listen to them. SONG. Who is Silvia? Who is she, That all the young men praise her? She is holy, beautiful, and wise; Heaven gave her such grace, That she should be admired. Is she as kind as she is beautiful? Because beauty lives with kindness. Love turns to her eyes, To cure him of his blindness, And when helped, stays there. So let’s sing to Silvia, That Silvia is beyond compare; She surpasses every living thing On this dull earth; Let’s bring her garlands.
How now! are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? the music likes you not.
What’s this! Are you sadder than before? How are you, man? The music isn’t making you happy.
You mistake; the musician likes me not.
You’re wrong; it’s the musician who doesn’t like me.
Why, my pretty youth?
Why, my lovely young man?
He plays false, father.
He plays wrong, father.
How? out of tune on the strings?
How? Is he out of tune on the strings?
Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.
Not exactly; but his playing is so wrong it hurts my very heart.
You have a quick ear.
You have a sharp ear.
Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.
Yes, I wish I were deaf; it makes my heart feel slow.
I perceive you delight not in music.
I see you don’t enjoy music.
Not a whit, when it jars so.
Not at all, when it sounds like this.
Hark, what fine change is in the music!
Listen, what a beautiful change in the music!
Ay, that change is the spite.
Yes, that change is just out of spite.
You would have them always play but one thing?
Do you want them to always play just one thing?
I would always have one play but one thing. But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on Often resort unto this gentlewoman?
I would always want them to play only one thing. But, host, does this Sir Proteus we’re talking about often visit this lady?
I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he loved her out of all nick.
I’ll tell you what Launce, his servant, told me: he loved her more than anything.
Where is Launce?
Where is Launce?
Gone to seek his dog; which tomorrow, by his master’s command, he must carry for a present to his lady.
He’s gone to find his dog; tomorrow, at his master’s order, he has to take it as a gift to his lady.
Peace! stand aside: the company parts.
Quiet! Step aside: the group is breaking up.
Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead That you shall say my cunning drift excels.
Sir Thurio, don’t worry: I’ll argue so well That you’ll agree my clever plan is better.
Where meet we?
Where shall we meet?
At Saint Gregory’s well.
At Saint Gregory’s well.
Farewell.
Goodbye.
Madam, good even to your ladyship.
Good evening, madam, to your ladyship.
I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that that spake?
Thank you for the music, gentlemen. Who was that who spoke?
One, lady, if you knew his pure heart’s truth, You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.
It’s me, lady. If you knew the truth of my heart, You’d recognize me by my voice right away.
Sir Proteus, as I take it.
Sir Proteus, I believe.
Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Yes, sir Proteus, kind lady, and your servant.
What’s your will?
What do you want?
That I may compass yours.
I want to fulfill your wishes.
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.
You got what you wanted; this is my decision: That you go home to bed right now. You tricky, lying, false, disloyal man! Do you think I’m so gullible, so clueless, That I could be fooled by your flattery, When you’ve already deceived so many with your promises? Go back, go back, and fix what you’ve done wrong in love. I swear by this pale moon in the sky, I am so far from agreeing to your request That I despise you for making this false plea, And soon I’ll be angry with myself For wasting time talking to you.
I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; But she is dead.
I admit, sweet love, that I once loved a lady; But she’s dead.
[Aside] ’Twere false, if I should speak it; For I am sure she is not buried.
[Aside] That would be a lie, if I said it; Because I’m sure she’s not buried.
Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth’d: and art thou not ashamed To wrong him with thy importunacy?
Even if she is dead, your friend Valentine Is still alive; and you are the witness, That I am betrothed to him: aren’t you ashamed To treat him this way, with your constant pleading?
I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.
I also heard that Valentine is dead.
And so suppose am I; for in his grave Assure thyself my love is buried.
And maybe I am too; because in his grave, You can be sure my love is buried.
Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
Sweet lady, let me dig it up from the earth.
Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence, Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.
Go to your lady’s grave and take her love from there, Or at least, make her tomb your own.
[Aside] He heard not that.
[Aside] He didn’t hear that.
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.
Madam, if your heart is this unfeeling, Please still give me your picture to show my love, The one that’s hanging in your room; To that picture I’ll speak, to that I’ll sigh and weep: Because since the real you belongs to someone else, I’m just a shadow; And to your shadow, I will give my love.
[Aside] If ’twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it, And make it but a shadow, as I am.
[Aside] If it were real, you would surely deceive it, And turn it into a shadow, just like I am.
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.
I really don’t want to be your idol, sir; But since your lies suit you so well To worship shadows and adore false images, Send to me in the morning and I’ll send it: Now, goodnight.
As wretches have o’ernight That wait for execution in the morn.
Like wretches who spend the night Waiting for execution in the morning.
Host, will you go?
Host, will you come?
By my halidom, I was fast asleep.
By my faith, I was fast asleep.
Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?
Please, where is Sir Proteus?
Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think ’tis almost day.
Well, he’s at my house. Honestly, I think it’s almost daybreak.
Not so; but it hath been the longest night That e’er I watch’d and the most heaviest.
Not yet; but it’s been the longest night I’ve ever stayed up, and the hardest to bear.