Val. No more, unless the next Word that thou speak'st Have fome malignant Power upon my Life: If fo, I pray thee breathe it in mine Ear, As ending Anthem of my endless Dolour. Pro. Čeafe to lament for that thou canst not help, And study Help for that which thou lament'ft. Time is the Nurfe and Breeder of all Good: Here if thou stay, thou canst not fee thy Love; Befides, thy ftaying will abridge thy Life. Hope is a Lover's Staff, walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing Thoughts. Thy Letters may be here, tho' thou art hence, Which, being writ to me, fhall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white Bofom of thy Love. The time now ferves not to expoftulate; Come, I'll convey thee through the City-gate, And, e'er I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy Love-affairs: As thou lov'ft Silvia, tho' not for thy felf, Regard thy Danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee Launce, and if thou feeft my Boy, Bid him make hafte, and meet me at the North-Gate. Pro. Go Sirrah, find him out: Come Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt. Laun. I am but a Fool, look you, and yet I have the Wit to think my Mafter is a kind of a Knave: But that's all one, if he be but one Knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love; but a Teem of Horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a Woman; but what Woman I will not tell my self; and yet 'tis a Milk-maid; yet 'tis not a Maid, for fhe hath had Goffips; yet 'tis a Maid, for she is her Mafter's Maid, and ferves for Wages: She hath more Qualities than a Water-Spaniel, which is much in a bare Chriftian. Here is the Cate-log [Pulling out a Paper] of her Conditions; Imprimis, She can fetch and carry; why a Horfe can do no more, nay a Horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is the better than a Jade. Item, the can milk; look you, a fweet Virtue in a Maid with clean Hands. Enter Enter Speed. Speed. How now Signior Launce? What News with your Mattership? Laun. With my Mastership? Why, it is at Sea. Speed. Well, your old Vice ftill; miftake the Word: What News then in your Paper? Laun. The blackeft News that ever thou heard'ft. Laun. Why, as black as Ink. Laun. Fie on thee, Jolthead, thou canst not read. Laun. I will try thee; tell me this, who begot thee? Laun. O illiterate Loiterer, it was the Son of thy Laun. Ay, that she can. Speed. Item, the brews good Ale. Laun. And therefore comes the Proverb, Bleffing of your Heart, you brew good Ale. Speed. Item, the can fowe. Laun. That's as much as to fay, Can fhe fo? Speed. Item, he can knit. Laun. What need a Man care for a Stock with a Wench, When she can knit him a Stock? Speed. Item, fhe can wash and scour. Laun. A fpecial Virtue, for them fhe need not to be wash'd and fcour'd. Speed. Item, fhe can spin. Laun. Then may I fet the World on Wheels, when she can spin for her living. Speed. Item, the hath many nameless Virtues. Laun. That's as much as to fay Baftard Virtues, that indeed know not their Fathers, and therefore have no Names. Speed. Here follow her Vices. Laun. Clofe at the Heels of her Virtues. Speed. Item, fhe is not to be kift fafting, in respect of her Breath. To meafure Kingdoms with his feeble Steps, Luc. Better forbear 'till Protheus make Return. Jul. Oh, know'st thou not, his Looks are my Soul's Food? Pity the Dearth that I have pined in, By longing for that Food fo long a time: Didft thou but know the inly Touch of Love, Left it should burn above the Bounds of Reason.. Jul. The more thou dam'ft it up, the more it burns: He makes sweet Mufick with th' ennamel'd Stones, And fo by many winding Nooks he strays, And make a Paftime of each weary Step, Luc. But in what Habit will you go along? The loofe Encounters of lafcivious Men: As may befeem fome well-reputed Page. Luc. Why then your Ladyfhip muft cut your Hair. With twenty odd-conceited true-love Knots: To be fantaftick, may become a Youth Of greater time than I fhall fhow to be. Luc. What Fashion, Madam, fhall I make your Breeches ? What T What compass will you wear your Farthingale? Luc. You must needs have them with a Cod-piece, Madam. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'ft me, let me have I fear me it will make me fcandaliz'd. Luc. If you think fo, then ftay at home, and go not. Luc. Then never dream on Infamy, but go. Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my Fear: Warrant me welcome to my Protheus. Luc. All these are Servants to deceitful Men. Jul. Bafe Men that use them to fo bafe Effect: But truer Stars did govern Protheus Birth; His Words are Bonds, his Oaths are Oracles, His Love fincere, his Thoughts immaculate, His Tears pure Meffengers fent from his Heart, His Heart as far from Fraud as Heav'n from Earth. Luc. Pray Heav'n he prove fo when you come to him. Jul. Now as thou lov'ft me, do him not that Wrong, To bear a hard Opinion of his Truth; Only deferve my Love by loving him. And prefently go with me to my Chamber, To take a Note of what I ftand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing Journey: All that is mine I leave at thy Difpofe, My Goods, my Lands, my Reputation, Only in lieu thereof dispatch me hence. Come, anfwer not; but to it presently: I am impatient of my Tarriance. [Exeunt, АС Т ACT III. SCENE I. Enter Duke, Thurio and Protheus. Duke. SIR ucrets to IR Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while; We have fome Secrets to confer about. [Ex. Thu. Now tell me, Protheus, what's your Will with me? But when I call to Mind your gracious Favours My Duty pricks me on to utter that, Which else no worldly Good should draw from me. Duke. Protheus, I thank thee for thine honeft Care; The |