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      If not, to hide what I have said to thee,

      That I may venture to depart alone.

       Egl.

      Madam, I pity much your grievances,

      Which since I know they virtuously are plac’d,

      I give consent to go along with you,

      Reaking as little what betideth me,

      As much I wish all good befortune you.

      When will you go?

       Sil.

      This evening coming.

       Egl.

      Where shall I meet you?

       Sil.

      At Friar Patrick’s cell,

      Where I intend holy confession.

       Egl.

      I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow,

      Gentle lady.

       Sil.

      Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

Scene IV

       Enter Launce [with his dog].

      Launce. When a man’s servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav’d from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, “Thus I would teach a dog.” I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon’s leg. O, ’tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have (as one should say) one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hang’d for’t; sure as I live he had suffer’d for’t. You shall judge: he thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs, under the Duke’s table. He had not been there (bless the mark!) a pissing-while, but all the chamber smelt him. “Out with the dog,” says one. “What cur is that?” says another. “Whip him out,” says the third. “Hang him up,” says the Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: “Friend,” quoth I, “you mean to whip the dog?” “Ay, marry, do I,” quoth he. “You do him the more wrong,” quoth I, “’twas I did the thing you wot of.” He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I’ll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stol’n, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill’d, otherwise he had suffer’d for’t. Thou think’st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you serv’d me, when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman’s farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?

       [Enter] Proteus, Julia [disguised as Sebastian].

       Pro.

      Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,

      And will employ thee in some service presently.

       Jul.

      In what you please; I’ll do what I can.

       Pro.

      I hope thou wilt.

       [To Launce.]

      How now, you whoreson peasant,

      Where have you been these two days loitering?

      Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

      Pro. And what says she to my little jewel?

      Launce. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

      Pro. But she receiv’d my dog?

      Launce. No indeed did she not; here have I brought him back again.

      Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me?

      Launce. Ay, sir, the other squirrel was stol’n from me by the hangman’s boys in the market-place; and then I offer’d her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

       Pro.

      Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,

      Or ne’er return again into my sight.

      Away, I say! stayest thou to vex me here?

       [Exit Launce.]

      A slave, that still an end turns me to shame!

      Sebastian, I have entertained thee,

      Partly that I have need of such a youth

      That can with some discretion do my business—

      For ’tis no trusting to yond foolish lout—

      But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,

      Which (if my augury deceive me not)

      Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth:

      Therefore know [thou], for this I entertain thee.

      Go presently, and take this ring with thee,

      Deliver it to Madam Silvia—

      She lov’d me well deliver’d it to me.

       Jul.

      It seems you lov’d not her, [to] leave her token:

      She is dead, belike?

       Pro.

      Not so; I think she lives.

       Jul.

      Alas!

       Pro.

      Why dost thou cry “alas”?

       Jul.

      I cannot choose

      But pity her.

       Pro.

      Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?

       Jul.

      Because methinks that she lov’d you as well

      As you do love your lady Silvia:

      She dreams on him that has forgot her love;

      You dote on her that cares not for your love.

      ’Tis pity love should be so contrary;

      And thinking on it makes me cry “alas!”

       Pro.

      Well, give her that ring and therewithal

      This letter; that’s her chamber. Tell my lady

      I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.

      Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,

      Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.

      

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