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Launce. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Launce. Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—

Pro.

Sirrah, I say forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.

Val.

My ears are stopp’d and cannot hear good news,

So much of bad already hath possess’d them.

Pro.

Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,

For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val.

No Valentine indeed, for sacred Silvia.

Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. What is your news?

Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanish’d.

Pro.

That thou art banish’d—O, that’s the news!—

From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

Val.

O, I have fed upon this woe already,

And now excess of it will make me surfeit.

Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro.

Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom

(Which unrevers’d stands in effectual force)

A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;

Those at her father’s churlish feet she tender’d,