This ring I gave him when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good will;
And now am I, unhappy messenger, To plead for that which I would not obtain, To carry that which I would have refused, To praise his faith which I would have dispraised.
I am my master's true-confirmed love;
But cannot be true servant to my master, Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.
Enter SILVIA, attended Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. SILVIA What would you with her, if that I be she? JULIA If you be she, I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. SILVIA From whom? JULIA From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. SILVIA O, he sends you for a picture. JULIA Ay, madam. SILVIA Ursula, bring my picture here.
Go give your master this: tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. JULIA Madam, please you peruse this letter.--Pardon me, madam; I have unadvised Deliver'd you a paper that I should not:
This is the letter to your ladyship. SILVIA I pray thee, let me look on that again. JULIA It may not be; good madam, pardon me. SILVIA There, hold!
I will not look upon your master's lines:
I know they are stuff'd with protestations And full of new-found oaths; which he will break As easily as I do tear his paper. JULIA Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. SILVIA The more shame for him that he sends it me;
For I have heard him say a thousand times His Julia gave it him at his departure.
Though his false finger have profaned the ring, Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. JULIA She thanks you. SILVIA What say'st thou? JULIA I thank you, madam, that you tender her.
Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much. SILVIA Dost thou know her? JULIA Almost as well as I do know myself:
To think upon her woes I do protest That I have wept a hundred several times. SILVIA Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. JULIA I think she doth; and that's her cause of sorrow. SILVIA Is she not passing fair? JULIA She hath been fairer, madam, than she is:
When she did think my master loved her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you:
But since she did neglect her looking-glass And threw her sun-expelling mask away, The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as I. SILVIA How tall was she? JULIA About my stature; for at Pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were play'd, Our youth got me to play the woman's part, And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, As if the garment had been made for me:
Therefore I know she is about my height.
And at that time I made her weep agood, For I did play a lamentable part:
Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
Which I so lively acted with my tears That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead If I in thought felt not her very sorrow! SILVIA She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
I weep myself to think upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lovest her.
Farewell.
Exit SILVIA, with attendants JULIA 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.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:
If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine:
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.
What should it be that he respects in her But I can make respective in myself, If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved and adored!
And, were there sense in his idolatry, My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, That used me so; or else, by Jove I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes To make my master out of love with thee!
