xnsmv/testtesttest huggingface dataset:
Sylvia: What’s your will?
Sylvia: You have your wish: my will is even this,
Sylvia: That presently you hie you home to bed.
Sylvia: Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man,
Sylvia: Think’st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,
Sylvia: To be seducèd by thy flattery,
Sylvia: That hast deceived so many with thy vows?
Sylvia: Return, return, and make thy love amends.
Sylvia: For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,
Sylvia: I am so far from granting thy request
Sylvia: That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit
Sylvia: And by and by intend to chide myself
Sylvia: Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Sylvia: Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend
Sylvia: Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,
Sylvia: I am betrothed. And art thou not ashamed
Sylvia: To wrong him with thy importunacy?
Sylvia: And so suppose am I, for in his grave,
Sylvia: Assure thyself, my love is burièd.
Sylvia: Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence,
Sylvia: Or, at the least, in hers sepulcher thine.
Sylvia: I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
Sylvia: But since your falsehood shall become you well
Sylvia: To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
Sylvia: Send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it.
Sylvia: And so, good rest.
Sylvia: Who calls?
Sylvia: Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.
Sylvia: O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman—
Sylvia: Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not—
Sylvia: Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplished.
Sylvia: Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
Sylvia: I bear unto the banished Valentine,
Sylvia: Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Sylvia: Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorred.
Sylvia: Thyself hast loved, and I have heard thee say
Sylvia: No grief did ever come so near thy heart
Sylvia: As when thy lady and thy true love died,
Sylvia: Upon whose grave thou vow’dst pure chastity.
Sylvia: Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
Sylvia: To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
Sylvia: And for the ways are dangerous to pass,
Sylvia: I do desire thy worthy company,
Sylvia: Upon whose faith and honor I repose.
Sylvia: Urge not my father’s anger, Eglamour,
Sylvia: But think upon my grief, a lady’s grief,
Sylvia: And on the justice of my flying hence
Sylvia: To keep me from a most unholy match,
Sylvia: Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
Sylvia: I do desire thee, even from a heart
Sylvia: As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
Sylvia: To bear me company and go with me;
Sylvia: If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
Sylvia: That I may venture to depart alone.
Sylvia: This evening coming.
Sylvia: At Friar Patrick’s cell,
Sylvia: Where I intend holy confession.
Sylvia: Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.
Sylvia: What would you with her, if that I be she?
Sylvia: From whom?
Sylvia: O, he sends you for a picture?
Sylvia: Ursula, bring my picture there.
Sylvia: Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,
Sylvia: One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Sylvia: Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.
Sylvia: I pray thee let me look on that again.
Sylvia: There, hold.
Sylvia: I will not look upon your master’s lines;
Sylvia: I know they are stuffed with protestations
Sylvia: And full of new-found oaths, which he will break
Sylvia: As easily as I do tear his paper.
Sylvia: The more shame for him, that he sends it me;
Sylvia: For I have heard him say a thousand times
Sylvia: His Julia gave it him at his departure.
Sylvia: Though his false finger have profaned the ring,
Sylvia: Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
Sylvia: What sayst thou?
Sylvia: Dost thou know her?
Sylvia: Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her?
Sylvia: Is she not passing fair?
Sylvia: How tall was she?
Sylvia: She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
Sylvia: Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
Sylvia: I weep myself to think upon thy words.
Sylvia: Here, youth, there is my purse.
Sylvia: I give thee this
Sylvia: For thy sweet mistress’ sake, because thou lov’st her.
Sylvia: Farewell.
Sylvia: Amen, amen. Go on, good Eglamour,
Sylvia: Out at the postern by the abbey wall.
Sylvia: I fear I am attended by some spies.
Sylvia: A thousand more mischances than this one
Sylvia: Have learned me how to brook this patiently.
Sylvia: O Valentine, this I endure for thee!
Sylvia: O miserable, unhappy that I am!
Sylvia: By thy approach thou mak’st me most unhappy.
Sylvia: Had I been seizèd by a hungry lion,
Sylvia: I would have been a breakfast to the beast
Sylvia: Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
Sylvia: O heaven, be judge how I love Valentine,
Sylvia: Whose life’s as tender to me as my soul;
Sylvia: And full as much, for more there cannot be,
Sylvia: I do detest false perjured Proteus.
Sylvia: Therefore begone; solicit me no more.
Sylvia: When Proteus cannot love where he’s beloved.
Sylvia: Read over Julia’s heart, thy first best love,
Sylvia: For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
Sylvia: Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
Sylvia: Descended into perjury to love me.
Sylvia: Thou hast no faith left now unless thou ’dst two,
Sylvia: And that’s far worse than none; better have none
Sylvia: Than plural faith, which is too much by one.
Sylvia: Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!
Sylvia: All men but Proteus.
Sylvia: O, heaven!
Lance: Nay, ’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the Lances have this very fault. I have received my proportion like the Prodigious Son and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pibble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I’ll show you the manner of it.
Lance: This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father; no, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother; and this my father. A vengeance on ’t, there ’tis! Now sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand. This hat is Nan, our maid. I am the dog. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog. O, the dog is me, and I am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: “ Father, your blessing.” Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my father. Well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O, that she could speak now like a wold woman! Well, I kiss her.
Lance: Why, there ’tis; here’s my mother’s breath up and down. Now come I to my sister. Mark the moan she makes! Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word. But see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Lance: It is no matter if the tied were lost, for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
Lance: Why, he that’s tied here, Crab my dog.
Lance: For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
Lance: In thy tale.
Lance: Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied. Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
Lance: Sir, call me what thou dar’st.
Lance: Well, I will go.
Lance: Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always: that a man is never undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the Hostess say welcome.
Lance: Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.
Lance: No.
Lance: No, neither.
Lance: No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Lance: Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.
Lance: What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff understands me.
Lance: Ay, and what I do too. Look thee, I’ll but lean, and my staff understands me.
Lance: Why, “ stand under” and “ understand” is all one.
Lance: Ask my dog. If he say “ Ay,” it will; if he say “ No,” it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.
Lance: Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.
Lance: I never knew him otherwise.
Lance: A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Lance: Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.
Lance: Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.
Lance: Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?
Lance: So-ho, so-ho!
Lance: Him we go to find. There’s not a hair on ’s head but ’tis a Valentine.
Lance: Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?
Lance: Nothing.
Lance: Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—
Lance: Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.
Lance: I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave, but that’s all one if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love, but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who ’tis I love; and yet ’tis a woman, but what woman I will not tell myself; and yet ’tis a milk-maid; yet ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian.
Lance: Here is the catalog of her condition. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk. Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.
Lance: With my master’s ship? Why, it is at sea.
Lance: The black’st news that ever thou heard’st.
Lance: Why, as black as ink.
Lance: Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read.
Lance: I will try thee. Tell me this, who begot thee?
Lance: O, illiterate loiterer, it was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read.
Lance: There, and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.
Lance: Ay, that she can.
Lance: And thereof comes the proverb: “ Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.”
Lance: That’s as much as to say “ Can she so?”
Lance: What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock?
Lance: A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured.
Lance: Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.
Lance: That’s as much as to say “ bastard virtues,” that indeed know not their fathers and therefore have no names.
Lance: Close at the heels of her virtues.
Lance: Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.
Lance: That makes amends for her sour breath.
Lance: It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.
Lance: O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue. I pray thee, out with ’t, and place it for her chief virtue.
Lance: Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy and cannot be ta’en from her.
Lance: I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.
Lance: Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
Lance: If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will, for good things should be praised.
Lance: Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll keep shut; now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.
Lance: Stop there. I’ll have her. She was mine and not mine twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.
Lance: “ More hair than wit”? It may be; I’ll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What’s next?
Lance: That’s monstrous! O, that that were out!
Lance: Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I’ll have her, and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible—
Lance: Why, then will I tell thee that thy master stays for thee at the North Gate.
Lance: For thee? Ay, who art thou? He hath stayed for a better man than thee.
Lance: Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve the turn.
Lance: Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction.
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.” I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Sylvia 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. 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 gentlemanlike dogs under the Duke’s table; he had not been there— bless the mark!— a pissing while but all the chamber smelt him. “ 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. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I’ll be sworn I have sat in the stocks 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. Thou think’st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Sylvia. 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?
Lance: Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the dog you bade me.
Lance: Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a present.
Lance: No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again.
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.
Thurio: Seem you that you are not?
Thurio: So do counterfeits.
Thurio: What seem I that I am not?
Thurio: What instance of the contrary?
Thurio: And how quote you my folly?
Thurio: My “ jerkin” is a doublet.
Thurio: How!
Thurio: That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air.
Thurio: Ay, sir, and done too for this time.
Thurio: Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Thurio: They say that Love hath not an eye at all.
Thurio: Since his exile she hath despised me most,
Thurio: Forsworn my company and railed at me,
Thurio: That I am desperate of obtaining her.
Thurio: Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
Thurio: Lest it should ravel and be good to none,
Thurio: You must provide to bottom it on me,
Thurio: Which must be done by praising me as much
Thurio: As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.
Thurio: And thy advice this night I’ll put in practice.
Thurio: Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Thurio: Let us into the city presently
Thurio: To sort some gentlemen well-skilled in music.
Thurio: I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
Thurio: To give the onset to thy good advice.
Thurio: How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?
Thurio: Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Thurio: Who, Sylvia?
Thurio: I thank you for your own.— Now, gentlemen,
Thurio: Let’s tune, and to it lustily awhile.
Thurio: Where meet we?
Thurio: Farewell.
Thurio: Sir Proteus, what says Sylvia to my suit?
Thurio: What? That my leg is too long?
Thurio: I’ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.
Thurio: What says she to my face?
Thurio: Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black.
Thurio: How likes she my discourse?
Thurio: But well when I discourse of love and peace.
Thurio: What says she to my valor?
Thurio: What says she to my birth?
Thurio: Considers she my possessions?
Thurio: Wherefore?
Thurio: Not I.
Thurio: Why, this it is to be a peevish girl
Thurio: That flies her fortune when it follows her.
Thurio: I’ll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour
Thurio: Than for the love of reckless Sylvia.
Thurio: Yonder is Sylvia, and Sylvia’s mine.
Thurio: Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I.
Thurio: I hold him but a fool that will endanger
Thurio: His body for a girl that loves him not.
Thurio: I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.
Duke: Now, daughter Sylvia, you are hard beset.—
Duke: Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.
Duke: What say you to a letter from your friends
Duke: Of much good news?
Duke: Know you Don Antonio, your countryman?
Duke: Hath he not a son?
Duke: You know him well?
Duke: Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
Duke: He is as worthy for an empress’ love,
Duke: As meet to be an emperor’s counselor.
Duke: Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
Duke: With commendation from great potentates,
Duke: And here he means to spend his time awhile.
Duke: I think ’tis no unwelcome news to you.
Duke: Welcome him then according to his worth.
Duke: Sylvia, I speak to you— and you, Sir Thurio.
Duke: For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.
Duke: I will send him hither to you presently.
Duke: Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
Duke: We have some secrets to confer about.
Duke: Now tell me, Proteus, what’s your will with me?
Duke: Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Duke: Which to requite command me while I live.
Duke: This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Duke: Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,
Duke: And oftentimes have purposed to forbid
Duke: Sir Valentine her company and my court.
Duke: But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
Duke: And so, unworthily, disgrace the man—
Duke: A rashness that I ever yet have shunned—
Duke: I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
Duke: That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.
Duke: And that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
Duke: Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
Duke: I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
Duke: The key whereof myself have ever kept,
Duke: And thence she cannot be conveyed away.
Duke: Upon mine honor, he shall never know
Duke: That I had any light from thee of this.
Duke: Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Duke: Be they of much import?
Duke: Nay then, no matter. Stay with me awhile;
Duke: I am to break with thee of some affairs
Duke: That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
Duke: ’Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought
Duke: To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.
Duke: No. Trust me, she is peevish, sullen, froward,
Duke: Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,
Duke: Neither regarding that she is my child
Duke: Nor fearing me as if I were her father;
Duke: And may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Duke: Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her,
Duke: And where I thought the remnant of mine age
Duke: Should have been cherished by her childlike duty,
Duke: I now am full resolved to take a wife
Duke: And turn her out to who will take her in.
Duke: Then let her beauty be her wedding dower,
Duke: For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Duke: There is a lady in Verona here
Duke: Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
Duke: And nought esteems my agèd eloquence.
Duke: Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor—
Duke: For long agone I have forgot to court;
Duke: Besides, the fashion of the time is changed—
Duke: How and which way I may bestow myself
Duke: To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Duke: But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
Duke: But she I mean is promised by her friends
Duke: Unto a youthful gentleman of worth
Duke: And kept severely from resort of men,
Duke: That no man hath access by day to her.
Duke: Ay, but the doors be locked and keys kept safe,
Duke: That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Duke: Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,
Duke: And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
Duke: Without apparent hazard of his life.
Duke: Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
Duke: Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
Duke: This very night; for love is like a child
Duke: That longs for everything that he can come by.
Duke: But hark thee: I will go to her alone;
Duke: How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
Duke: A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
Duke: Then let me see thy cloak;
Duke: I’ll get me one of such another length.
Duke: How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
Duke: I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
Duke: What letter is this same? What’s here? To Sylvia.
Duke: And here an engine fit for my proceeding.
Duke: I’ll be so bold to break the seal for once.
Duke: My thoughts do harbor with my Sylvia nightly,
Duke: And slaves they are to me that send them flying.
Duke: O, could their master come and go as lightly,
Duke: Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying.
Duke: My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,
Duke: While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Duke: Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,
Duke: Because myself do want my servants’ fortune.
Duke: I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
Duke: That they should harbor where their lord should be.
Duke: What’s here?
Duke: Sylvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.
Duke: ’Tis so. And here’s the ladder for the purpose.
Duke: Why, Phaëton— for thou art Merops’ son—
Duke: Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car
Duke: And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Duke: Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?
Duke: Go, base intruder, overweening slave,
Duke: Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates
Duke: And think my patience, more than thy desert,
Duke: Is privilege for thy departure hence.
Duke: Thank me for this more than for all the favors
Duke: Which all too much I have bestowed on thee.
Duke: But if thou linger in my territories
Duke: Longer than swiftest expedition
Duke: Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
Duke: By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
Duke: I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
Duke: Begone. I will not hear thy vain excuse,
Duke: But, as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.
Duke: Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you
Duke: Now Valentine is banished from her sight.
Duke: This weak impress of love is as a figure
Duke: Trenchèd in ice, which with an hour’s heat
Duke: Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.
Duke: A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
Duke: And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.
Duke: How now, Sir Proteus? Is your countryman,
Duke: According to our proclamation, gone?
Duke: My daughter takes his going grievously.
Duke: So I believe, but Thurio thinks not so.
Duke: Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
Duke: For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,
Duke: Makes me the better to confer with thee.
Duke: Thou know’st how willingly I would effect
Duke: The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter?
Duke: And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
Duke: How she opposes her against my will?
Duke: Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
Duke: What might we do to make the girl forget
Duke: The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?
Duke: Ay, but she’ll think that it is spoke in hate.
Duke: Then you must undertake to slander him.
Duke: Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Duke: Your slander never can endamage him;
Duke: Therefore the office is indifferent,
Duke: Being entreated to it by your friend.
Duke: And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind
Duke: Because we know, on Valentine’s report,
Duke: You are already Love’s firm votary
Duke: And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
Duke: Upon this warrant shall you have access