Act 4, Scene 4

Original Text

SCENE IV. The same Enter Lance with his dog Crab.

Modern English

Scene 4. The same location. Enter Lance with his dog Crab.

Original Text

LANCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him even as one would say precisely, "Thus I would teach a dog."

Modern English

LANCE. When your own servant turns on you like a dog, I tell you, that's rough. This is one I raised from a puppy — one I personally saved from drowning while three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went under. I've trained him as carefully as anyone could — "this is how you train a dog," full stop.

Original Text

LANCE. I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things.

Modern English

LANCE. My master sent me to deliver him as a gift to Mistress Silvia. The moment I walk into the dining room, the dog goes straight to her plate and steals her chicken leg. God help us — it's a shameful thing when a dog can't behave himself in decent company. I wanted a dog that was, as you might say, fully committed to being a dog in the best sense — a real dog in all respects.

Original Text

LANCE. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for't; sure as I live, he had suffered for't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; he had not been there—bless the mark!—a pissing-while but all the chamber smelt him.

Modern English

LANCE. If I hadn't been smarter than him — taking the blame for what he did — I honestly believe they'd have hanged him for it. As sure as I'm alive, he would have suffered. You can judge for yourself. He works his way into a little group of well-bred dogs under the Duke's table, and he'd barely been there — God forgive me for saying it — a minute before the whole room could smell what he'd done.

Original Text

LANCE. "Out with the dog!" says one; "What cur is that?" says another; "Whip him out", says the third; "Hang him up", says the Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. "Friend," quoth I, "you mean to whip the dog?" "Ay, marry do I," quoth he. "You do him the more wrong," quoth I. "'Twas I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no more ado but whips me out of the chamber.

Modern English

LANCE. "Get that dog out!" says one. "What kind of mongrel is that?" says another. "Whip him out!" says a third. "Hang him!" says the Duke. I, knowing the smell all too well, recognized it was Crab, so I go straight to the fellow whose job it is to whip the dogs. "Friend," I say, "you're going to whip the dog?" "That I am," says he. "You'd be doing him a great wrong," I say. "It was me that did what you know about." So he wastes no time and whips me clean out of the room.

Original Text

LANCE. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn I have sat in the stock for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed. I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't. [_To Crab_.] Thou think'st not of this now.

Modern English

LANCE. How many masters would do that for their servant? I swear, I've sat in the stocks for sausages he stole, when otherwise he'd have been executed. I've stood at the pillory for geese he killed, when otherwise he'd have suffered for it. [_To Crab_.] You don't think about any of this, do you.

Original Text

LANCE. Nay, I remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?

Modern English

LANCE. No — and I remember the trick you pulled on me when I was saying goodbye to Mistress Silvia. Didn't I tell you to watch me and do as I do? When have you ever seen me cock my leg and relieve myself against a lady's skirt? Have you ever seen me do a thing like that?

Original Text

Enter Proteus and Julia disguised as Sebastian. PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can.

Modern English

Enter Proteus and Julia disguised as Sebastian. PROTEUS. Your name is Sebastian? I like the look of you — I'll put you to work on something right away. JULIA. Whatever you need. I'll do my best.

Original Text

PROTEUS. I hope thou wilt. [_To Lance_.] How now, you whoreson peasant, Where have you been these two days loitering? LANCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

Modern English

PROTEUS. I hope you will. [_To Lance_.] What's this — you worthless layabout, where have you been skulking these last two days? LANCE. Sir, I delivered Mistress Silvia the dog you told me to.

Original Text

PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel? LANCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

Modern English

PROTEUS. And what does she think of my little treasure? LANCE. She says your dog was a mongrel, and sends you mongrel thanks — which is about what such a gift deserves.

Original Text

PROTEUS. But she received my dog? LANCE. No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again.

Modern English

PROTEUS. But she accepted the dog? LANCE. No, she did not. Here he is — I've brought him back.

Original Text

PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me? LANCE. Ay, sir, the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place, and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

Modern English

PROTEUS. What? You gave her that dog as my gift? LANCE. Yes, sir. The other one — the little one — was stolen from me by some hangman's boys in the marketplace. So I offered her my own dog instead, who is ten times the size of yours, which makes it a far better present.

Original Text

PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? A slave that still an end turns me to shame. [_Exit Lance with Crab._]

Modern English

PROTEUS. Get out of here and find my dog, or don't ever show your face to me again. Go on — are you standing there just to aggravate me? A fool who does nothing but bring me shame. [_Exit Lance with Crab._]

Original Text

PROTEUS. Sebastian, I have entertained thee Partly that I have need of such a youth That can with some discretion do my business— For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout— But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, Which, if my augury deceive me not, Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth. Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.

Modern English

PROTEUS. Sebastian, I've taken you on partly because I need someone with enough sense to handle a delicate errand for me — that idiot clearly can't be trusted with anything — but mainly because of your bearing and your manner, which tell me, if I'm reading you right, that you were well raised, have some luck about you, and are honest. That is why I've hired you — understand that.

Original Text

PROTEUS. Go presently, and take this ring with thee, Deliver it to Madam Silvia. She loved me well delivered it to me. JULIA. It seems you loved not her, to leave her token. She's dead belike? PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.

Modern English

PROTEUS. Go now, and take this ring with you. Deliver it to Madam Silvia. The woman who gave it to me loved me well. JULIA. It seems you didn't love her — giving away her keepsake like that. Is she dead, perhaps? PROTEUS. No — I think she's alive.

Original Text

JULIA. Alas! PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry "Alas"? JULIA. I cannot choose But pity her. PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?

Modern English

JULIA. Oh. PROTEUS. Why "oh"? What are you sighing for? JULIA. I can't help it — I feel sorry for her. PROTEUS. Why should you feel sorry for her?

Original Text

JULIA. Because methinks that she loved you as well As you do love your lady Silvia. She dreams on him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking on it makes me cry "Alas."

Modern English

JULIA. Because it seems to me she loved you just as completely as you love your lady Silvia. She's dreaming of a man who has forgotten she exists. You're devoted to a woman who doesn't want your love. It's a sad thing when love works so much against itself — and thinking about it makes me sigh.

Original Text

PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. [_Exit._]

Modern English

PROTEUS. Well. Give her that ring, and with it this letter. That is her room. Tell my lady I'm calling in her promise — I want her portrait. When you've delivered the message, come straight back to my room, where you'll find me alone and in low spirits. [_Exit._]

Original Text

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

Modern English

JULIA. What woman would carry a message like this? Poor Proteus — you've hired a fox to guard your sheep. Poor fool — why do I feel sorry for him, when he despises me with his whole heart?

Original Text

JULIA. 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; 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.

Modern English

JULIA. He despises me because he loves her. I pity him because I love him. This ring I gave him the day he left me — to keep him bound to my memory. And now I'm the wretched go-between, sent to argue for what I'd never want him to win, carrying a gift I'd have thrown back in his face, praising a loyalty I'd sooner curse.

Original Text

JULIA. 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.

Modern English

JULIA. I am my master's true and faithful love — but I can't be a true servant to my master without betraying myself at every step. I'll press his case for him, but so half-heartedly that heaven knows I hope he fails.

Original Text

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.

Modern English

Enter Silvia attended. Good day, madam. Could you help me — I need to speak with Madam Silvia. SILVIA. What do you want with her, if I am she? JULIA. If you are she, I only ask for your patience to hear the message I've been sent to deliver.

Original Text

SILVIA. From whom? JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture? JULIA. Ay, madam.

Modern English

SILVIA. From whom? JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, my lady. SILVIA. Ah — he's sent you for a portrait? JULIA. Yes, my lady.

Original Text

SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there. [_She is brought the picture._] Go, give your master this. Tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Modern English

SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture. [_She is brought the picture._] Take this to your master. Tell him from me: the real Julia — the one his fickle heart has forgotten — would suit his room far better than this painted copy.

Original Text

JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter. [_Gives her a letter._] Pardon me, madam, I have unadvised Delivered you a paper that I should not. This is the letter to your ladyship. [_Takes back the letter and gives her another._]

Modern English

JULIA. My lady, please — would you read this letter? [_Gives her a letter._] Forgive me, my lady — I've made a mistake, given you a paper I shouldn't have. This is the letter intended for you. [_Takes back the letter and gives her another._]

Original Text

SILVIA. I pray thee, let me look on that again. JULIA. It may not be. Good madam, pardon me.

Modern English

SILVIA. Wait — let me see that first one again. JULIA. I'm afraid I can't. Forgive me, my lady.

Original Text

SILVIA. There, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines. I know they are stuffed with protestations And full of new-found oaths, which he will break As easily as I do tear his paper. [_She tears the second letter._]

Modern English

SILVIA. Fine, keep it. I won't read your master's letter anyway. I know exactly what's in it — swear after swear, every oath as fresh as it is worthless, all as easy to break as I just tore that paper. [_She tears the second letter._]

Original Text

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.

Modern English

JULIA. My lady, he also sends you this ring. SILVIA. The more shame to him for sending it. I've heard him say a hundred times — a thousand — that his Julia gave him that ring when he left her. His faithless hand may have defiled it, but I won't insult his Julia by wearing it.

Original Text

JULIA. She thanks you. SILVIA. What sayst thou? JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much. SILVIA. Dost thou know her?

Modern English

JULIA. She thanks you. SILVIA. What did you say? JULIA. I thank you, my lady, for thinking of her. My master wrongs that poor woman terribly. SILVIA. Do you know her?

Original Text

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.

Modern English

JULIA. Almost as well as I know myself. When I think about what she's been through, I can honestly say I've wept for her more times than I can count. SILVIA. She must believe Proteus has abandoned her? JULIA. I think she does. That's what's breaking her.

Original Text

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 judgement, was as fair as you.

Modern English

SILVIA. Is she not strikingly beautiful? JULIA. She was lovelier once, my lady, than she is now. When she still believed my master loved her, she was, in my opinion, every bit as beautiful as you.

Original Text

JULIA. 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 pinched the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as I.

Modern English

JULIA. But since she stopped looking in the mirror and put away the mask she used to shield her face from the sun, the open air has faded the color from her cheeks and taken the pale bloom from her complexion, until now she looks as weathered and dark as I do.

Original Text

SILVIA. How tall was she? JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were played, Our youth got me to play the woman's part, And I was trimmed in Madam Julia's gown, Which served me as fit, by all men's judgements, As if the garment had been made for me; Therefore I know she is about my height.

Modern English

SILVIA. How tall was she? JULIA. About my height. At Whitsuntide — the spring festival — when all the young people put on a show, the others got me to play a woman's role. I wore Madam Julia's gown for the part, and by everyone's judgment it fit me as well as if it had been sewn for me. So I know she is close to my height.

Original Text

JULIA. 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.

Modern English

JULIA. And that performance made her weep deeply, because the part I played was a heartbreaking one. My lady, it was Ariadne — mourning Theseus's broken vow and his cruel, cowardly flight. I played it with such feeling, with real tears, that my poor mistress was moved to her core and wept bitterly. And I swear on my life, I felt every bit of her grief as my own.

Original Text

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 lov'st her. Farewell.

Modern English

SILVIA. She's lucky to have a friend like you, young man. Poor woman — abandoned and alone. Your words have made me weep too. Here — take this purse. I give it to you for your mistress's sake, because you love her. Farewell.

Original Text

JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. [_Exeunt Silvia and Attendants._]

Modern English

JULIA. And she will thank you for it herself, if you ever meet her. [_Exeunt Silvia and Attendants._]

Original Text

JULIA. 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 flattered her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much.

Modern English

JULIA. What a good woman — gentle and beautiful. I don't think my master's courtship will get very far, not with someone who holds his Julia's love in such regard. What a strange thing love is, to torment itself like this. Here is her portrait — let me look. I honestly think that if I were dressed the way she is here, my face would be every bit as lovely as hers. Though the painter has flattered her a little — unless I'm flattering myself too much.

Original Text

JULIA. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow; If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a coloured 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?

Modern English

JULIA. Her hair is auburn; mine is bright gold. If that's the whole reason he prefers her, I'll find myself a wig in exactly that color. Her eyes are grey as glass — and so are mine. Yes, but her forehead is low, and mine is high. What is it he sees in her that I couldn't offer just as well, if this blind, foolish god called Love had any sense?

Original Text

JULIA. Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, Thou shalt be worshipped, kissed, 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 scratched out your unseeing eyes To make my master out of love with thee. [_Exit._]

Modern English

JULIA. Come here, painted shadow — take up this other shadow, your rival. You ridiculous, feeling-less thing — you'll be worshipped, kissed, loved, and adored. And if his worship of you made any sense, I — the real woman — should be the one standing there. I'll treat you gently, for your mistress's sake, since she used me so gently. Because otherwise, I swear by Jove, I'd scratch out those painted eyes that see nothing, just to break my master's spell over you. [_Exit._]

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Act 4, Scene 4

Act 4, Scene 4