SCENE 1. ACT I. An open place in Verona CEASE to persuade, my loving Proteus: Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu. Valentine. And on a love-book pray for my success. Proteus Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. Proteus. 'Tis love you cavil at: I am not love. Valentine. Love is your master, for he masters you; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. Proteus. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. Valentine And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, That art a votary to fond desire? Once more adieu. My father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Proteus, And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Proteus. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Julia. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. Lucetta. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Julia. His little speaking shows his love but small. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. They do not love, that do not show their love. O! they love least, that let men know their love. Julia. I would I knew his mind. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? To whisper and conspire against my youth? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper: see it be return'd, Or else return no more into my sight. Lucetta. How now! what means this passion at his Which they would have the profferer construe, name? Lucetta. Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. "Ay." Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When I would, it were; That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid. Julia. What is't that you took up so gingerly? Nothing. Lucetta. Julla. Why didst thou stoop, then? That I let fall. Lucetta. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Julia. Nothing concerning me. Julia. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Julia. heal'd; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one upon another: Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see I see things too, although you judge I wink. Julia. Come, come; will't please you go? [Exeunt. SCENE 111. The same. A Room in Antonio's Enter Antonio and Panthino. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son, Antonio. Panthino He wonder'd, that your lordship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, While other men, of slender reputation, Put forth their sons to seck preferment out: Some to the wars, to try their fortune there; Some, to discover islands far away; Some, to the studious universities. For any, or for all these exercises, He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet, And did request me to importune you To let him spend his time no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth. Antonio. And how stand you affected to his wish? Proteus. As one relying on your lordship's will, And not depending on his friendly wish. Antonio. My will is something sorted with his wish. I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time My lord, I cannot be so soon provided: Antonio. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee: No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Antonio and Panthins. Proteus. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, The uncertain glory of an April day, SIR, your glove. Speed. Valentine. Not mine; my gloves are on. Why then this may be yours, for this is but one. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine. Sweet ornament, that decks a thing divine! Ah Silvia Silvia! Speed. |