Enter Eglamour.
Egl.
This is the hour that Madam Silvia
Entreated me to call and know her mind.
There’s some great matter she’ld employ me in.
Madam, madam!
[Enter] Silvia [above at her window].
Sil.
Who calls?
Egl.
Your servant and your friend;
One that attends your ladyship’s command.
Sil.
Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.
Egl.
As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
According to your ladyship’s impose,
I am thus early come to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.
Sil.
O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman—
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not—
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish’d:
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
I bear unto the banish’d Valentine,
Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul [abhors].
Thyself hast lov’d, and I have heard thee say
No grief did ever come so near thy heart
As when thy lady and thy true-love died,
Upon whose grave thou vow’dst pure chastity.
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
And for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company,
Upon whose faith and honor I repose.
Urge not my father’s anger, Eglamour,
But think upon my grief, a lady’s grief,
And on the justice of my flying hence,
To keep me from a most unholy match,
Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
I do desire thee, even from a heart
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
To bear me company, and go with me;
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
