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An open place in Verona.
Enter Valentine and Protheus.

E AS E to persuade, my loving Protheus;

C -;

Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would intreat thy company, .
To see the wonders of the world abroad;
Than (living dully Nuggardiz'd at home)
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.


But since thou lov'ft, love ftill, and thrive therein:
Ev'n as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? sweet Valentine, adieu ;
Think on thy Protheus, when thou, haply, seeft
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel.
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou doft meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayer;
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.
VAL. And on a love-book pray


my success. Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love; How young Leander cross’d the Hellespont,

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love; For he was more than over shoes in love.

VAL. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swom the Hellefpont.

Pko. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots.
VAL. No, I will not; for it boots thee not.
PRO, What?

Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans ;
Coy looks, with heart-fore fighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights.
If haply won, perhaps, an hapless gain :
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit;
Or elfe a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro, So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.
Pro, 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love.

VAL. Love is your master; for he masters you.
And he that is so yoaked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.



Luc, Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame,
That I, unworthy body as I
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

Jul. Why not on Protheus, as on all the’rest?
Luc. Then thus; of many good, I think him beft.
Jul. Your reason

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ;
I think him so, because I think him fo.

Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him?
Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not caft away.
Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me.
Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.
Jul. His little speaking thews his love but small.
Luc. The fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.
Jul. They do not love, that do not shew their love.
Luc. Oh, they love least, that let'men know their love.
Jul. I would, I knew his mind,
Luc. Peruse this paper, madam.
Jul. “ To Julia;” say, from whom?
Luc. That the contents will fhew.
Jul. Say, fay; who gave it thee?

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and fent, Ithink, from Protheus,
He would have giv’n it you, but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.

Jul. 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 ; fee, it be return'd;
Or else return no more into my fight.

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than haté.
JUL. Will ye be gone ?
Luc. That you may ruminate.


=; h,

Jul. And yet I would I had o'er-look'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And

pray her to a fault, for which I chid her What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view ? Since maids, in modefty, fay No, to that Which they would have the proff ’rer construe, Av. 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 willingly I would have had her here ! How angerly I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! My penance is to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past. What ho! Lucetta !

Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc. What would your ladyship?
Jul. Is't near dinner-time?

Luc. I would it were ;
That you might kill your ftomach on your meat,
And not upon your maid.

Juk. What is't that you


so gingerly?
Luc. Nothing.
Jul. Why did'it thou stoop then?
Luc. To take a paper up, that I let fall.
Jul. And is that paper nothing ?
Luc. Nothing, concerning me.
Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

Luc. Madam, it will not lie, where it concerns; Unless it have a false interpreter.

Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhime. Uut. That I might fing it, madam; to a tone: Give me a note ; your ladyfhip can fet.

Jól. As little by ruch toys as may be poffible :
Best sing to the tuđe of “ Light o'love."

Loc. It is too heavy for fo light a túne.
JUL. Heavy ? belike, it hath some burdenlthen.
Luċ. Ay'; tand melódious were it, would you fiting it.
Jul. And why not you?
Luc. I cannot reich To high.

Jul. Let's see your fong!
How now, minion',
Luc. Keep tune there nili, so you will fing it out:

And yet, methinks, I do not like this 'tunt.

Jul. You do not
Luc. No, madam, 'ti's too sharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too lawcy. (Boxes Ker.

Luc. Nay, now you are too fat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a defcant;
There wanteth but a mean, to fill your fonig.

Jul. The mean is drown'd with your wnruly base.
Luc. Indeed, 'I bid the bate for Protheus.

Jur. This babble sall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation !

[Tears it. Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lye : You would be fingering them, to anger me.

Loc. She makes it strange, but he would be best pleasid To be fo angerd with another letter.

[Exiç. Jul. Nay, would I were fo anger'd with the same! Oh hateful hands, to tear fach 1bving words ! Injurious wafps, to feed on such sweet honey, And kill the bees, that yield it with your stings ! I'll kiss each several paper for amends:


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