Pro. Here's too fmall a Pafture for fuch ftore of Mut tons. Speed. If the Ground be over-charg'd, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay, in that you are aftray; 'twere beft pound you. Speed. Nay, Sir, less than a Pound shall serve me for carrying your Letter. Pro. You miftake; I mean the Pound, a Pin-fold. Speed. From a Pound to a Pin? fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a Letter to your Lover. Pro. But what faid fhe? Speed. Ay. Pro. Nod-I; why, that's Noddy. Speed. You miftook, Sir, I faid she did nod: And you ask me if she did nod, and I faid, Ay. Pro. And that fet together, is Noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the Pains to fet it together, take it for your Pains. Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the Letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, Sir, how do you bear with me? Speed. Marry, Sir, the Letter very orderly, Having nothing but the Word Noddy for my Pains. Pro. Befhrew me, but you have a quick Wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your flow Purfe. Pro. Come, come, open the Matter in brief; what faid fhe? Speed. Open your Purfe, that the Mony and the Matter may be both deliver❜d. Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your Pains; what faid fhe? Pro. Why? could'ft thou perceive fo much from her? Speed. No, not fo much as take this for thy Pains: To teftifie your Bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me: In requital whereof, henceforth carry your Letter your Enter Julia and Lucetta. [Exeunt. Jul. But fay, Lucetta, now we are alone, Luc. Please you repeat their Names, I'll fhew my Mind, According to my fhallow fimple Skill. Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? Luc. As of a Knight well-fpoken, neat and fine; But were I you, he never fhould be mine, Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Should cenfure thus on lovely Gentlemen. Luc. Then thus; of many good, I think him best. Luc. I have no other but a Woman's Reason; I think him fo, because I think him fo. Jul. And wouldst thou have me caft my Love on him? Luc. Luc. Fire that's clofeft kept burns most of all. Jul. They do not love that do not fhew their Love. Luc. Perufe this Paper, Madam. Luc. Sir Valentine's Page; and fent, I think, from Protheus. Luc. To plead for Love deferves more Fee than Hate. Luc. That you may ruminate. Jul. And yet I would I had o'er-look'd the Letter. It were a fhame to call her back again, And pray her to a Fault, for which I chid her. What Fool is fhe that knows I am a Maid, Which they would have the Profferer conftrue, Ay. And ask Remiffion for my Folly past. What ho! Lucetta! Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. What would your Ladyship? [Exit. Luc. I would it were, That you might kill your Stomach on your Meat, And not upon your Maid. Jul. What is't that you Took up fo gingerly? Luc. Nothing. Jul. Why didft thou ftoop 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 lye for thofe that it concerns. Luc. Madam, it will not lye where it concerns, Unless it have a falfe Interpreter. Jul. Some Love of yours hath writ to you in Rime. Jul. As little by fuch Toys as may be poffible; Jul. Heavy? belike it hath fome Burthen then. Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let's fee your Song: How now Minion? Luc. Keep Tune there ftill, fo you will fing it out: And yet methinks I do not like this Tune. Jul. You do not? Luc. No, Madam, 'tis too sharp. Jul. You, Minion, are too fawcy. Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the Concord with too harsh a Defcant: Jul. The Mean is drown'd with your unruly Bafe. Jul. This Babble fhall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a Coil with Proteftation! Go, get you gone; and let the Papers lye: You would be fingring them to anger me. Luc. She makes it ftrange, but the would be beft pleas'd To be fo anger'd with another Letter. F 4 [Exit. Jul. Jul. Nay, would I were fo anger'd with the fame! Look, here is writ, kind Julia; unkind Julia! I throw thy Name against the bruifing Stones, And throw it thence into the raging Sea. Now kifs, embrace, contend, do what you will. Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your Father ftays. Luc. What, fhall thefe Papers lye, like tell-tales here? Jul. If you refpect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they shall not lye for catching cold. Jul. I fee you have a Month's mind to them. Luc. Ay, Madam, you may fay what Sights you fee: I fee things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go? [Exeunt. SCENE |