For I will be thy beads-man, Valentine.
Val. And on a love-book pray for 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 swam the Hellespont.

Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the

boots.1

Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not.

Pro.

Val.

What?

To be In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks,

With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:

If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else 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 yoked by a fool,

Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.

Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. 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,

(1) A humorous punishment at harvest-home feasts, &c.

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.
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our
leave.

At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters,
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!
Val. As much to you at home! and so, farewell!
[Exit Valentine.

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love :
He leaves his friends, to dignify them more;
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with
thought.

Enter Speed.

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my master?

Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.

Speed. Twenty to one then, he is shipp'd already, And I have play'd the sheep, in losing him. Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away.

Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep?

Pro. I do.

Speed Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore :—
I must go send some better messenger;
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
[Exeunt

SCENE II.-The same. Garden of Julia's house. Enter Julia and Lucetta.

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love? Luc. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.

Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, That every day with parle1 encounter me, In thy opinion, which is worthiest love?

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show my mind

According to my shallow simple skill.

Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; But, were I you, he never should be mine.

Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. 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,

Should censure2 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;

(1) Talk.

(2) Pass sentence.

I think him so, because I think him so. Jul. And would'st 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 mov'd 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 is 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.
Jul. To Julia,-Say, from whom?
Luc.

That the contents will show.

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, Í

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, see it be return'd; Or else return no more into my sight.

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?

(1) A matchmaker.

Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that

Which they would have the profferer construe, 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 willingly I would have had her here!
How angrily 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!

That you might kill your stomach1 on your meat,

And not upon your maid.

Jul.

Nothing.

Jul.

What is't you took up

Why did'st 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. 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.

(1) Passion or obstinacy.