In requital whereof, henceforth, carry your letters your
selfe; And so Sir, I'le commend you to my Master.
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your Ship from wrack,
Which cannot perish having thee aboarde,
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore:

[Exit Speed.]

I must goe send some better Messenger,
I feare my Julia would not daigne my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthlesse post.

[The same.

Scœna Secunda.

Garden of Julia's house.]

Enter Julia and Lucetta.

150

Exit.

Jul. But say Lucetta (now we are alone)
Would'st thou then counsaile me to fall in love?
Luc. I Madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.
Jul. Of all the faire resort of Gentlemen,
That every day with par'le encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

Lu. Please you repeat their names, ile shew my minde, According to my shallow simple skill.

Ju. What thinkst thou of the faire sir Eglamoure? Lu. As of a Knight, well-spoken, neat, and fine; But were I you, he never should be mine.

IO

Ju. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
Lu. Well of his wealth; but of himselfe, so, so.
Ju. What think'st thou of the gentle Protheus?
Lu. Lord, Lord: to see what folly raignes in us.
Ju. How now? what meanes this passion at his name?
Lu. Pardon deare Madam, 'tis a passing shame,

7. par'le: parle-RowE.

That I (unworthy body as I am)

20

Should censure1 thus on lovely Gentlemen. 1criticize
Ju. Why not on Protheus, as of all the rest?
Lu. Then thus: of many good, I thinke him best.
Jul. Your reason?

Lu. I have no other but a womans reason:

I thinke him so, because I thinke him so.

Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him?
Lu. I: if you thought your love not cast away.
Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.
Lu. Yet he, of all the rest, I thinke best loves ye. 30
Jul. His little speaking, shewes his love but small.
Lu. Fire that's closest kept, burnes most of all.
Jul. They doe not love, that doe not shew their love.
Lu. Oh, they love least, that let men know their love.
Jul. I would I knew his minde.

Lu. Peruse this paper Madam.
Jul. To Julia: say, from whom?
Lu. That the Contents will shew.

Jul. Say, say: who gave it thee?

39

Lu. Sir Valentines page & sent I think from Protheus; He would have given 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 Broker2: Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?

2 go

To whisper, and conspire against my youth? between 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 returne no more into my sight.

Lu. To plead for love, deserves more fee, then hate. ful. Will ye be gon?

Lu. That you may ruminate.

51

Exit.

Jul. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter;

It were a shame to call her backe againe,
And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her.
What 'foole is she, that knowes I am a Maid,
And would not force the letter to my view?
Since Maides, in modesty, say no, to that,
Which they would have the profferer construe, I.
Fie, fie: how way-ward is this foolish love;
That (like a testie Babe) will scratch the Nurse,
And presently, all humbled kisse the Rod?
How churlishly, I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly, I would have had her here?
How angerly I taught my brow to frowne,
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile?
My pennance is, to call Lucetta backe
And aske remission, for my folly past.
What hoe: Lucetta.

[Re-enter Lucetta.]

Lu. What would your Ladiship?

Jul. Is't neere dinner time?

Lu. I would it were,

That you might kill your stomacke on your meat,

And not upon your Maid.

Ju. What is't that you

Tooke up so gingerly?

Lu. Nothing.

Ju. Why didst thou stoope then?

Lu. To take a paper up, that I let fall.

Jul. And is that paper nothing?

Lu. Nothing concerning me.

Jul. Then let it lye, for those that it concernes.

56. What 'foole: What a fool-Cambridge.

75-6. I 1.-HALLIWELL.

60

70

80

Lu. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes, Unlesse it have a false Interpreter.

Jul. Some love of yours, hath writ to you in Rime. Lu. That I might sing it (Madam) to a tune: Give me a Note, your Ladiship can set

Jul. As little by such toyes, as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of Light O, Love.

Lu. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Ju. Heavy? belike it hath some burden then?
Lu. I: and melodious were it, would you sing it,
Ju. And why not you?

Lu. I cannot reach so high.

Ju. Let's see your Song:

How now Minion?

Lu. Keepe tune there still; so you will sing it out:

And yet me thinkes I do not like this tune.

Ju. You doe not?

Lu. No (Madam) tis too sharpe.

Ju. You (Minion) are too saucie.
Lu. Nay, now you are too flat;

90

100

1 second part

2 tenor

And marre the concord, with too harsh a descant:1
There wanteth but a Meane2 to fill

your Song.

Ju. The meane is dround with you unruly base. Lu. Indeede I bid the base for Protheus.

Ju. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me; Here is a coile with protestation: [Tears the letter.] Goe, get you gone: and let the papers lye: You would be fingring them, to anger me.

110

Lu. She makes it strange, but she would be best pleas'd

To be so angred with another Letter.

[Exit.] Ju. Nay, would I were so angred with the samc: Oh hatefull hands, to teare such loving words;

89. Light 0, Love: 'Light o' love '-THEOBALD. 95-6. I 1.-HANmer.

113. samc: same-2-4 F.

Injurious Waspes, to feede on such sweet hony,
And kill the Bees that yeelde it, with your stings;
Ile kisse each severall paper, for amends:
Looke, here is writ, kinde Julia: unkinde Julia,
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,

120

I throw thy name against the bruzing-stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdaine.
And here is writ, Love wounded Protheus.
Poore wounded name: my bosome, as a bed,
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I search1 it with a soveraigne kisse. 1 probe
But twice, or thrice, was Protheus written downe:
Be calme (good winde) blow not a word away,
Till I have found each letter, in the Letter,

130

Except mine own name: That, some whirle-winde beare
Unto a ragged, fearefull, hanging Rocke,
And throw it thence into the raging Sea.
Loe, here in one line is his name twice writ:
Poore forlorne Protheus, passionate Protheus:
To the sweet Julia: that ile teare away:
And yet I will not, sith2 so prettily
He couples it, to his complaining Names;
Thus will I fold them, one upon another;
Now kisse, embrace, contend, doe what you will.

[Re-enter Lucetta.]

2 since

140

Lu. Madam: dinner is ready: and your father staies. Ju. Well, let us goe. Lu. What, shall these papers lye, like Tel-tales here? Ju. If you respect them; best to take them up. Ln. Nay, I was taken up, for laying them downe. Yet here they shall not lye, for catching cold.

139. new 1. at Dinner-HANMER.