Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! Jul. How now! what means this passion at his name? Luc. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, 1 Should censure 1 thus on lovely gentlemen. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? Luc. Then thus,—of many good I think him best. Jul. Your reason? Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; I think him so, because I think him so. Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away, Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never moved me. Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Luc. Fire, that's closest kept, burns most of all. Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Luc. O, they love least, that let men know their love. Jul. I would, I knew his mind. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. Luc. That the contents will show. Pass sentence. Jul. Say, say: who gave it thee ? Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus : 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 broker! 1 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. Jul. Will you be gone? Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'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! Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 1 A match-maker. How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here! And ask remission for my folly past. Re-enter LUCetta. Luc. What would your ladyship? Jul. Is it dinner-time? Luc. I would it were; That you might kill your stomach 1 on your meat, Jul. Why didst 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 rhyme. Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune : Give me a note: your ladyship can set. Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible : Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love.'1 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then. Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. Jul. And why not you? Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let's see your song. How now, minion? Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Jul. You do not? Luc. No, madam; 'tis too sharp. Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: 2 Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil5 with protestation!— [tears the letter. Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them, to anger me. Luc. She makes it strange; 6 but she would be best pleased 1 An old tune, frequently alluded to by the ancient dramatists. 2 Variations. 3 The tenor in music. 4 I take pains to make you a captive to Proteus' passion. 6 She affects this distance of behaviour. 5 Tumult. SHAK. I. H To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! Injurious wasps! to feed on such sweet honey, And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ-kind Julia ;'-unkind Julia! I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd; But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down : And throw it thence into the raging sea! 1 Since. |