The Two Gentlemen of Verona quotes

Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Were’t not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour’d love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

’Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

Love is your master, for he masters you:

And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

Come, come, open the matter in brief: what said she?

Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered.

Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

No, not so much as “Take this for thy pains.” To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I’ll commend you to my master.

Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish having thee aboard, Being destined to a drier death on shore.

Exit Speed. I must go send some better messenger: I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit.

Then thus: of many good I think him best.

I have no other, but a woman’s reason; I think him so because I think him so.

And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

His little speaking shows his love but small.

Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.

They do not love that do not show their love.

What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view! Since maids, in modesty, say “no” to that Which they would have the profferer construe “ay.”

Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse And presently all humbled kiss the rod!

How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here! How angerly I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforced my heart to smile! My penance is to call Lucetta back And ask remission for my folly past.

Look, what thou want’st shall be sent after thee: No more of stay! to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ’d To hasten on his expedition. Exeunt Antonio and Panthino.

Thus have I shunn’d the fire for fear of burning, And drench’d me in the sea, where I am drown’d.

I fear’d to show my father Julia’s letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love; And with the vantage of mine own excuse Hath he excepted most against my love.

I fear’d to show my father Julia’s letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love; And with the vantage of mine own excuse Hath he excepted most against my love.

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day,

Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you?

Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.

They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

I will. Exit Valentine.

Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Is it mine, or Valentine’s praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me reasonless to reason thus? She is fair; and so is Julia that I love— That I did love, for now my love is thaw’d;

Which, like a waxen image, ’gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, And that I love him not as I was wont.

O, but I love his lady too too much, And that’s the reason I love him so little.

How shall I dote on her with more advice, That thus without advice begin to love her! ’Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason’s light;

To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And even that power which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury;

Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear.

O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn’d, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun.

But she I mean is promised by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her.

Why, then, I would resort to her by night.

Ay, but the doors be lock’d and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night.

And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish’d from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish’d from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!

What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?

Unless it be to think that she is by And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale;

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament’st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.

Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.

Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver’d Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate: Come, I’ll convey thee through the city-gate;

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament’st.

Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;

O villain, that set this down among her vices!

To be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue

: I pray thee, out with’t, and place it for her chief virtue.

Ay: but, peace! let’s hear ’em.

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.

How many women would do such a message? Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain’d A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me?

Because he loves her, he despiseth me; Because I love him I must pity him.

This ring I gave him when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good will;

How many women would do such a message?

Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain’d A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.

Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me? Because he loves her, he despiseth me; Because I love him I must pity him.

And she shall thank you for’t, if e’er you know her. A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! I hope my master’s suit will be but cold, Since she respects my mistress’ love so much.

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

Here is her picture: let me see; I think, If I had such a tire, this face of mine Were full as lovely as is this of hers: And yet the painter flatter’d her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much.

When Proteus cannot love where he’s beloved. Read over Julia’s heart, thy first best love, For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths Descended into perjury, to love me.

Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou’dst two; And that’s far worse than none; better have none Than plural faith which is too much by one:

Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!

Thou common friend, that’s without faith or love, For such is a friend now; treacherous man! Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.

Who should be trusted, when one’s own right hand Is perjured to the bosom?

Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst, ’Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!

thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted, when one’s own right hand Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake.

The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst, ’Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!

My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender’t here; I do as truly suffer As e’er I did commit.

How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me Such an immodest raiment, if shame live In a disguise of love: It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,

Women to change their shapes than men their minds.

Than men their minds! ’tis true. O heaven! were man But constant, he were perfect. That one error Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.