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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;

Unless I look on Silvia in the day,

There is no day for me to look upon.

She is my essence, and I leave to be,

If I be not by her fair influence

Foster’d, illumin’d, cherish’d, kept alive.

I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:

Tarry I here, I but attend on death,

But fly I hence, I fly away from life.

[Enter Proteus and] Launce.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

Launce. Soho, soho!

Pro. What seest thou?

Launce. Him we go to find. There’s not a hair on ’s head but ’tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Launce. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?

Pro. Who wouldst thou strike?