The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Servant!

Mistress?

Master, Sir Thurio is frowning at you.

Yes, boy, it’s because he’s in love.

Not with you.

With my mistress, then.

It would be good if you punched him.

Servant, you are sad.

Indeed, madame, I seem to be.

It seems you’re sad when you are not?

As it happens, I seem to be something I’m not.

Just like a fake.

You also seem to be something you’re not.

What do I seem like that I am not?

Wise.

What proof do you have to the contrary?

Your foolishness.

And what do you know of my foolishness?

Because you’re wearing a jerkin.

My “jerkin” is actually a doublet.

Well, then, you’re doubly foolish.

Why?

What, are you angry, Sir Thurio? Is your face turning red?

Leave him be, madame. He’s just a kind of chameleon.

One that would rather feed off your blood, Valentine, than its usual diet of air.

So you say, sir.

Yes, sir, and it’ll be done, too.

I know it’s done, sir. You always end before you begin.

A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly fired.

It is indeed, madame. We have the giver to thank for that.

And who is the giver, servant?

Yourself, sweet lady, for you provided the spark that set it off. Sir Thurio gets his witty remarks from your ladyship’s good looks, and appropriately he spends what he borrows in your presence.

Sir, if you spar word for word with me, I shall make your wit dry up.

I know it well, sir. You have a whole treasury of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your servants, since it appears, by their ragged clothing, that they live by your worthless words alone.

No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.

Now, my daughter Sylvia, you are being assaulted. Sir Valentine, your father is healthy. What would you say to a letter from your friends filled with good news?

My lord, I would be thankful to anyone who brought good news from home.

Do you know Don Antonio, who is also from your country?

Yes, my good lord. I know the gentleman is noble and has a good reputation, which is well-deserved.

Doesn’t he have a son?

Yes, my good lord, a son that is also deserving of the honor and reputation of his esteemed father.

Do you know him well?

I know him as well as I know myself, since he and I have been in each other’s company and spent time together since we were infants. And even though I myself have been an unproductive delinquent and have wasted my youth on frivolity, Sir Proteus—that’s his name, you see—made good use of his time. He may be young, but he has the experience of a much older person. His hair isn’t gray, but his judgment is wise. Any praise I give is far less than he deserves, but in a word, he is perfect physically and mentally, with all the good graces of a true gentleman.

Damn! Sir, if this account is true, he is as worthy of an empress’ love as he is fit to be an emperor’s adviser. Well, sir, this gentleman has come to me with commendations from powerful men, and he intends to spend his time here for a while. I think it’s good news for you.

If I had wished for anything, it would have been for him to come.

Then give him the welcome he deserves. I’m speaking to you, Sylvia, and you, Sir Thurio. Valentine needs no urging. I will send him to you here shortly.

This is the gentlemen I told your ladyship would have come along with me had the woman he loved not captivated him with her beauty.

Perhaps now she’s freed him because some other lover has pledged devotion to her.

No, I’m sure she still holds him prisoner.

No, if that were true, then he would be blind, and if he were blind, how could he see to find his way to you?

Why, lady, Love has twenty pairs of eyes.

They say that Love is blind and has no eyes at all.

Love has no eyes for people like you, Thurio. Love can shut its eyes to ugly things.

Stop, stop. Here comes the gentleman.

Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beg you, make him feel welcome by giving him some sign of your affection.

His worthiness is enough for us to welcome here if he’s the one you’ve often wished to hear from.

Mistress, it is he. Sweet lady, take him into your service to be my fellow servant to your ladyship.

I’m too unworthy a mistress for so noble a servant.

Not so, sweet lady. I’m too unworthy a servant to have caught a look from a worthy mistress.

Don’t talk about unworthiness. Sweet lady, ask him to be your servant.

I’ll only boast of my duty, nothing else.

And duty never did go unrewarded. Servant, I, a worthless mistress, welcome you.

I’ll die fighting anyone who says that but you.

That you are welcome?

That you are worthless.

Madame, my lord—your father—would like to speak with you.

I’ll be there in a moment.

Come, Sir Thurio, go with me. Again, I welcome you, new servant. I’ll leave you to talk with your friend about affairs back home. We look forward to seeing you when you’re finished.

We’ll both be back to serve you shortly, your ladyship.

Now tell me, how is everyone back home?

Your friends are well and send their regards.

And how are your friends?

They were all fine and healthy when I left.

How is your lady, and is your love thriving?

My tales of love used to bore you. I know you don’t enjoy talking about love.

Yes, Proteus, but my life is different now. I have atoned for condemning Love. Overbearing thoughts of love punish me with bitter periods of not eating, remorseful groans, nightly tears, and daily lovesick sighs. In revenge for my contempt, Love keeps me awake and makes my eyes watch the woman responsible for my heart’s sorrow. Oh, kind Proteus, Love’s a powerful ruler and has so humbled me that I confess there is no sorrow as bad as his punishment and no joy equal to being in love. Now, speak no more unless it’s about love. Now I can eat again, have lunch and dinner, and sleep thinking of love.

Enough. I knew how you felt from the look in your eyes. Was that the woman you worship like an idol?

That was she. Isn’t she a heavenly saint?

No, but she is a model of beauty here on earth.

Call her a goddess.

I will not fawn over her.

Oh, flatter me, then, because those who are in love delight in praise.

When I was lovesick, you gave me the hard truth, and now I must give it to you.

Then speak the truth about her. If she isn’t a goddess, then call her an angel who is superior to all the creatures on earth.

Except my mistress.

No exceptions, my friend, unless you mean to insult my love.

Don’t I have reason to put forward my own girl?

And I will help you to put her forward, too. She shall have the dignity of having this high honor: she can carry the train of my lady’s dress so that the dirty ground can’t steal a kiss of her clothing. If it did, the ground would swell so much with pride that it would no longer accept the roots of the summer flowers, and rough winter would last forever.

Geez, Valentine, why are you bragging so much?

Pardon me, Proteus, any praise I can give is nothing in comparison with her. She is unique and alone among women.

Then leave her alone.

Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine, and having a jewel such as her, I’m as rich as if I had twenty oceans with sands made of pearls, water of nectar, and rocks of pure gold. Forgive me for not paying attention to you, because I’m doting on the woman I love, as you can tell. Her father likes my foolish rival, Thurio, because he has so much wealth. Thurio has gone with her, and I must follow after them, because love, as you know, is prone to jealousy.

But does she love you?

Yes, and we’re engaged to be married. No, what’s more, we’ve determined all the details of how we’ll sneak away and elope—how I must climb up to her window on a ladder made of rope. Everything is arranged and agreed upon for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my bedroom to give me some advice on these matters.

Go on ahead. I’ll find you shortly. I must go down to the harbor to bring ashore some necessities that I need. Then I’ll come see you right away.

Will you hurry?

I will. Just as one heat can extinguish another, or as one nail can drive another out with force, so too has a new love, Sylvia, driven out the memory of my former love, Julia. Is it my own attraction for her, or Valentine’s praise, or her own perfection, or going against my love for Julia that makes me feel this way? She is beautiful, but so is Julia, whom I love—whom I did love, because now my love for her has melted away, like a wax figure melted by a fire that no longer looks as it did. I think that my fondness for Valentine has diminished, too, and that I like him less than I used to. Oh, but I love his lady, Syliva, far too much, and that’s why I like him less now. How can I keep from loving her after further deliberation when I begin to love her with no deliberation at all! It’s only her surface I’ve seen so far, and that has already confused my sense of reason. But when I look at her perfection, there is no doubt I will be blind with love. If I can stop my love, I will. If not, I’ll use my skill to win her.