Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia.

Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.

Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: but did you perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.

Val. That’s the letter I writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver’d, and there an end.

Val. I would it were no worse.

Speed. I’ll warrant you, ’tis as well:

“For often have you writ to her; and she in modesty,

Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;

Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.”

All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? ’tis dinner-time.

Val. I have din’d.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish’d by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress—be mov’d, be mov’d.