Silvia, irritated; Valentine, baffled; Speed, cynical: WHAT IS GOING ON? (2.1.97-105) #2Dudes1Dog #SlowShakespeare

SILVIA             A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel.

And yet I will not name it. And yet I care not.

And yet, take this again.

[She tries to return the letter]

And yet I thank you,

Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

SPEED            [aside] And yet you will, and yet another ‘yet’.

VALENTINE    What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?

SILVIA             Yes, yes. The lines are very quaintly writ,

But since unwillingly, take them again.

[She tries to return the letter again]

Nay, take them.                      (2.1.97-105)

 

Mock(?) outrage from Silvia at Valentine’s and yet—or perhaps at his tongue-tiedness—because it’s as if she’s not interrupting, but rather responding to his inability to say what he feels. A pretty period, and yet, a fine, assertive conclusion to your protestations. Well, I guess the sequel; I can imagine what’s coming next. (That he Has Feelings?) And yet I will not name it—I’m not going to make this easy for you. And yet I care not: do I look bothered? And yet, take this again. All the same, have your letter back. Go on. And yet I thank you; still grateful and I mean henceforth to trouble you no more. That’s the last you’ll hear from me, as you have failed to take the initiative here or to respond as I had intended to my witty and devilishly clever and subtle ruse.

And yet you will, and yet another ‘yet’: yeah, right, comments Speed. (There’s a point being made here about women’s vacillation and inconstancy, and perhaps also the suggestion that Silvia is a flirt, stringing Valentine along for fun, annoyed that he won’t play her game.) Valentine, however, is baffled: what means your ladyship? Do you not like it? I—I just did what you asked? I mean, I thought it was OK? There could be real irritation, injured male pride, or (probably more likely) a trembling bottom lip—I thought I had a chance and I’ve got it wrong and I don’t know how or why? Yes, yes, says Silvia—she’s properly irritated now—the lines are very quaintly writ. It’s FINE, nice poem, neat handwriting, great spelling. But, since unwillingly, take them again. If you didn’t want to do this in the first place, well, that really detracts from your efforts, and makes me doubt your intentions. So—he’s trying to bat the letter away, perhaps, backing off, shaking his head—take them. Go on, here’s your letter back, I don’t want it after all.

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