The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Sir Thurio, leave us alone a while, please. We have some private matters to discuss.

Now tell me, Proteus, why did you want to see me?

My gracious lord, the rules of friendship require that I keep secret what I’m about to reveal to you. But when I think of all you’ve graciously done for me, undeserving as I am, my duty urges me to divulge what nothing else in the world could pull out of me. You should know, your highness, that Sir Valentine, my friend, intends to run away with your daughter tonight. I was informed of the plot. I know you’ve decided to marry her to Thurio, whom your lovely daughter hates. And should she be taken away from you this way, it would greatly upset you in your old age. So, for the sake of my duty, I chose to go against my friend and his intended scheme rather than hide it and burden your mind with a pack of sorrows that would weigh you down and send you to an early grave.

Proteus, I thank you for your honest concern. In return, ask anything you want of me while I still live. I’ve often happened to see this love of theirs for myself, when they’ve thought me asleep, and frequently I’ve considered forbidding Sir Valentine from seeing her or attending my court. But I’ve been afraid my jealousy might be misplaced, and as a result I might needlessly disgrace him—I’ve always disdained foolish impulsiveness. So I treated him kindly, only to learn of this deceitful plot you’ve just revealed. And, so you know how much I fear this, I make her sleep in one of the upper towers of the castle every night, because I know how impressionable youth can be led astray. I always keep the key myself, so that she cannot be taken away.

You should know, my noble lord, they have devised a way for him to climb up to her bedroom window and bring her down using a rope ladder. That’s why this young lover has gone away, but he’s coming back with it soon, allowing you to intercept him, if you like. But, my good lord, be cunning about it, so that he won’t know I told you. It was because of my love for you, not hatred for my friend, that I told you of this plot.

I swear on my honor he will never know I learned this information from you.

Goodbye, my lord. Sir Valentine is coming.

Sir Valentine, what’s the rush?

If you please, Your Grace, there is a messenger that waits to take my letters to my friends, and I am on my way to deliver them.

Are they very important?

In essence they describe how healthy and happy I am here in your kingdom.

No, then, they don’t matter. Stay with me a while. I want to tell you about some affairs that affect me personally, which you must keep secret. You’re surely aware that I have sought to match my friend Sir Thurio with my daughter.

I know that very well, my lord, and surely the match would be profitable and honorable. Besides, the gentleman is full of virtue, wealth, worth, and qualities fit for a wife such as your beautiful daughter. Can Your Grace not get her to want him for a husband?

No, trust me. She is irritable, sullen, difficult, proud, disobedient, stubborn, irresponsible, and neither does she care that she must obey me as my child nor does she fear me as her father. And, may I tell you, after thinking about it, this pride of hers has made me love her less. I once thought she would fulfill her duty and take care of me in my old age, but now I’ve resolved to find a new wife and marry my daughter off to whomever will take her. Her beauty will be her dowry, because she doesn’t value me or my possessions.

What part would Your Grace like me to play in this?

There is a lady here in Verona whom I love, but she is hard to please and coy and doesn’t appreciate my old-fashioned eloquence. I’d like you to teach me how to win her over, since I long ago forgot how to court a woman, and besides, times have changed. How should I act in order for her bright eyes to take notice of me?

Win her with gifts if she doesn’t pay attention to words. Jewels, which can’t speak, often sway a woman’s mind more than fast-talking.

But she already sneered at one present I sent her.

A woman will sometimes scorn the very thing that pleases her most. Send her another gift. Never give up, because her initial disdain will make her eventual feelings of love even stronger. If she frowns, it’s not out of hatred for you but rather to make you love her even more. If she chides you, it’s not so that you’ll go away, because the fools will go crazy if they’re left alone. Don’t be offended, whatever she says. By “Get out of here,” she doesn’t really mean, “Go away!” Flatter and praise women, compliment them, talk about their graces. Even if they have the blackest skin, say they have the faces of angels. In my opinion, any man that has a tongue isn’t really a man unless he can use it to win a woman.

But the family of the woman I’m talking about has promised her to a young, worthy gentleman, and they’ve strictly kept her away from other men so that no man can meet with her during the day.

Why, then I would see her at night.

Yes, but the doors are locked and the keys tightly guarded so that no man has access to her at night.

What’s stopping anyone from entering her room through the window?

Her room is high up, far from the ground, and it projects out like a shelf so that one cannot climb it without risking his life.

Why then, a skillfully made ladder of rope to toss up, with a pair of grappling hooks to anchor it, would work to scale this new Hero’s tower, allowing another daring Leander to climb it.

Now, from one nobleman by birth to another, tell me where I can get such a ladder.

When would you need to use it? Please, sir, tell me that.

Tonight, because Love is like a child that wants everything he sees.

I’ll get you such a ladder by seven o’clock.

But listen, I will go see her alone. What’s the best way to carry the ladder there?

It will be so light, my lord, that you’ll be able to carry it under any size cloak.

A cloak as long as yours will do?

Yes, my lord.

Then let me see your cloak. I’ll get one of that same length.

Why, any cloak will work just fine, my lord.

How will I get used to wearing a cloak? Please, let me try on your cloak.

What’s this letter? What does it say? “To Sylvia”! And a tool for climbing like the kind you suggested. I’ll be so bold as to break the seal.

“My thoughts are with my Sylvia every night. They are like my slaves, and I send them flying. Oh, I wish that I could come and go to her just as easily, and lie where my thoughts, which cannot feel, are lying. Let my thoughts, which come to you as my messengers, rest in your breast, while I, their king who sent them, curse the luck that has blessed them with such favor. I want to be as fortunate as my slaves. I curse myself, too, because I sent them to the place where I, their lord, should be.” What’s this here at the end? “Sylvia, this night I will free you.” So that’s it, and here’s the ladder you planned to use. Why, Phaethon—for you are Merops’ son —will you try to drive the sun god’s chariot and burn the world in your brash idiocy? Will you grasp at the stars because they shine on you, as you grasp at my daughter for favoring you? Go, vulgar intruder, arrogant slave! Flash your fawning smiles on someone in your own class, and know that my patience—which is more than you deserve—allows you to leave this place. Thank me for this more than you’ve thanked me for all the favors I’ve granted you, which were too many. But if you stay here in my kingdom any longer than it takes to hurry away, then by heaven my anger will be far greater than any love I’ve ever felt for my daughter or for you. Get out of here! I will not hear your futile excuses. If you love your life, then you’ll hurry on your way from here.

Why not death instead of being tortured alive? To die is to be banished from myself, and Sylvia is my very being. Being banished from her is like being banished from myself—a deadly banishment! What good is light if I can’t see Sylvia? What joy is joy if Sylvia isn’t nearby? Unless I can be happy to think she is near and live on the mere thought of her perfection. Unless I can be near Sylvia in the night, there is no music in the nightingale’s singing. Unless I can look on Sylvia in the day, the day doesn’t even exist. She is my essence, and I’ll cease to exist if I’m not cared for, shined upon, valued, and kept alive by her gentle power. I don’t run from death if I run from the duke’s deadly threats. If I stay here, I am just waiting for death, but if I flee this place, then I flee from life itself.

Run, boy, run, run, and find him.

I found him! I found him!

What do you see?

The man we were looking for. It’s a Valentine, down to the last hair.

Valentine?

No.

Who are you then? His ghost?

Not his ghost either.

What are you then?

Nothing.

Can “nothing” speak? Master, should I attack?

Who would you attack?

“Nothing.”

Stop, man.

But, sir, I’m going to attack “nothing.” Please—

Man, I say stop. Valentine, my friend, let’s talk.

My ears are plugged up and cannot hear good news—they are already filled with bad news.

Then I’ll stay silent and not tell you, because my news is harsh, uncomfortable to hear, and bad.

Is Sylvia dead?

No, Valentine.

There is no Valentine, indeed, for sacred Sylvia. Has she renounced her love for me?

No, Valentine.

There’s no Valentine if Sylvia ever stops loving me. What’s your news?

Sir, there’s been an announcement that you are banished.

That you are banished. Oh, that’s the news! Banished from here, from Sylvia, and from me, your friend.

Oh, I’ve already had my fill of this awful news, and now hearing more of it will make me sick. Does Sylvia know that I’m banished?

Yes, yes, and she’s responded to the sentence—which, if not revoked, will be enforced—by crying a sea of melting pearls, which some people call tears. She cried them out at the feet of her ill-mannered father, and did so upon her knees, wringing her hands, whose beautiful whiteness appropriately seemed to result from her sorrow. But neither begging on her knees, nor extending her pure hands, nor heaving sad sighs, deep groans, or crying tears that flow like silver streams would move her unsympathetic father to change his order that Valentine must die if captured. Besides, her begging to repeal the order of banishment against you bothered him so much that he ordered her locked away and threatened to keep her there permanently.

Don’t say any more, or the next word you say may kill me! If so, I beg you to whisper it into my ear as a final hymn for my endless misery.

Stop grieving over things you can’t help, and think of ways to fix the things that cause you grief. Time nurtures and breeds all good things. If you stay here, you can’t see your love. Besides, staying here will shorten your life. Hope is a lover’s crutch—walk forward with it and use it to prop yourself up against despair. Your letters can be here though you are far away, and if you write them to me I will deliver them to the milk-white breast of your love. Now is not the time to complain. Come, I’ll escort you through the city gate, and we can talk about everything concerning your love affairs before I part with you. Consider the danger you’re in, if not for yourself then for your love of Sylvia, and come along with me!

Please, Lance, if you see my servant boy, tell him to hurry and meet me at the north gate.

Go, boy, find him. Come, Valentine.

Oh, my dear Sylvia! Unlucky Valentine!

You know, I’m just a fool, but I still have enough brains to think my master is kind of a scoundrel. But it’s fine if he is a scoundrel if he’s only a scoundrel regarding love. No one thinks I am in love, yet I am. But a whole team of horses couldn’t tear that secret, or who it is I love, out of me. And yet it’s a woman, but what kind of woman I won’t even say to myself. It’s a milkmaid, but she’s not a virgin since she has given birth. Yet she is a maid, because she is her master’s maid and works for wages. She has more abilities than a water spaniel, which is a lot for a simple Christian.

Here is a list of all her traits. “In the first place, she can fetch and carry.” Why, a horse can’t do more. No, a horse can’t fetch. It can only carry. Therefore, she is better than a horse. “Also: she can milk.” Look at that! What a sweet virtue for a maid with clean hands.

How goes it, Signor Lance? Any news of your mastership?

About my master’s ship? Well, it’s at sea.

There you go again—you misunderstand me. What news is that, then, on your piece of paper?

The darkest news that you’ve ever heard.

Why, man, how dark?

Well, as dark as ink.

Let me read it.

Get away, you blockhead! You can’t read.

You lie. I can.

I’ll test you. Tell me: who conceived you?

The son of my grandfather, of course.

Oh, illiterate loafer! It was the son of your grandmother. This proves that you cannot read.

Come on, fool, come on. Test me with the paper.

(giving him the paper) There, and Saint Nicholas protect you!

(reads) “In the first place, she can milk.”

Yes, that she can.

“Also: she can brew good beer.”

And that’s where the proverb comes in—“Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.”

“Also: she can sew.”

To that I say, “Can she so?”

“Also: she can knit.”

What does a man care if a girl’s dowry doesn’t include stockings, when she can knit him a stocking?

“Also: she can wash and scour.”

That’s a special virtue, because then she doesn’t need to be washed and scoured to keep her in line.

“Also: she can spin yarn.”

Then I can take it easy, since she can spin for a living.

“Also: she has many virtues that can’t be named.”

That’s the same as saying they’re bastard virtues that don’t know their fathers and therefore have no names.

Now comes a list of her vices.

Following right behind her virtues.

“Also: she is not to be kissed while fasting, because of her bad breath.”

Well, that fault can be fixed with some breakfast. Read on.

“Also: she has a sweet tooth.”

That makes up for her sour breath.

“Also: she talks in her sleep.”

That doesn’t matter, as long as she doesn’t sleep while she talks.

“Also: she is slow with words.”

What a scoundrel who listed this among her vices! To speak little is a woman’s only virtue! Please, cross that out and list it as her chief virtue.

“Also: she is proud.”

Cross that out, too. It was Eve’s legacy to all women, so it can’t be taken from her.

“Also: she has no teeth.”

I don’t care about that either, because I love gums.

“Also: she’s a bitch.”

Well, at least she has no teeth with which to bite.

“Also: she will taste and appraise her liquor before buying it.”

If her liquor is good, then she should. And if she won’t, I will, because good things should be praised.

“Also: she is too loose.”

That can’t mean her tongue, since it’s already written down that she’s slow with words. And it isn’t about her purse, because I’ll keep that shut. Now she may be loose in another way, and that I can’t help. Well, keep going.

“Also: she has more hair than brains, and more faults than hair, and more wealth than faults.”

Stop right there. I’ll take her. She was mine and then not mine two or three times in that last item. Repeat it once more.

“Also: she has more hair than brains—”

More hair than brains? Maybe that’s so. I’ll prove it. The top of a saltshaker hides the salt, so therefore it is more than the salt. The hair that covers the brains is more than the brains, because the larger thing hides the smaller thing. Okay, what’s next?

“And more faults than hair—”

That’s awful. Oh, I wish that weren’t on the list!

“And more wealth than the faults.”

Why, that line makes the many faults a good thing. Well, I’ll have her. If it is a good match, since nothing is impossible—”

What then?

Why, then I’ll tell you that your master is waiting for you at the north gate.

For me?

For you? Yeah, who are you? He’s been waiting for a better man than you.

And I have to go to him?

You must run to him, because you have stayed so long that simply walking isn’t going to cut it.

Why didn’t you tell me sooner? A disease take your love letters!

Now he’ll get beaten for reading my letter. What a rude slave for having stuck his nose in someone else’s secrets. I’ll follow after him, to rejoice in seeing his master whip him.