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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.
Peruse this paper,
JUL. To Julia.-Say, from whom?
That the contents will show.
JUL. Say, say, who gave it thee?
Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from
He would have given it you; but I, being in the
Did in your name receive it: pardon the fault, I pray.
JUL. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!1
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 ye be gone
That you may ruminate.
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!
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 angerly 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!
Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall.
JUL. And is that paper nothing?
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 your's 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 burthen, then?
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.
JUL. And why not you?
Why didst thou stoop, then?
3 challenge pursuit (in the game of Prisoners' Base).
I cannot reach so high.
JUL. Let's see your song. Why, 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?
No, Madam; it is too sharp.
JUL. You, minion, are too saucy.
Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:1
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.
JUL. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass.
Luc. Indeed, I bid the bass for Proteus.
JUL. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me:-
Here is a coil with protestation!-
Go get you gone, and let the papers lie:
You would be fingering them, to anger me.
Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd
To be so anger'd with another letter.
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.
And here is writ kind Julia. Unkind Julia !
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
And here is writ love-wounded Proteus.
Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed,
Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I search it with a sovran kiss.
But twice or thrice was Proteus written down:
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away,
Till I have found each letter in the letter,
Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,
And throw it thence into the raging sea!-
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ-
Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
To the sweet Julia: that I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names.
Thus will I fold them one upon another:
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Dinner is ready, and your
JUL. Well, let us go.
Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?
JUL. If you respect them, best to take them up.
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
JUL. I see you have a month's mind to them.
Luc. Ay, Madam, you may see what sights you think;
I see things too, although you judge I wink.
JUL. Come, come; will 't please you go?
SCENE III. The Same. A Room in ANTONIO'S
Enter ANTONIO and PANTHION.
ANT. Tell me, Panthion, what sad1 talk was that
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
PAN. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
ANT. Why, what of him?
He wonder'd that your Lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
While other men of slender reputation
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some to discover islands far away;
Some to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises,
He said that Proteus your son was meet;
And did request me to impórtune you
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to2 his age,
In having known no travel in his youth.
ANT. Nor need'st thou much impórtune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time,
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd and tutor❜d in the world:
Experience is by industry achiev'd,
And perfected by the swift course of time.
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
PAN. I think your Lordship is not ignorant
How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the Emperor in his royal Court. ANT. I know it well.
PAN. "Twere good, I think, your Lordship sent him thither:
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,
2 reproach upon.
And be in eye of every exercise
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
ANT. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd:
And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it,
The execution of it shall make known.
Even with the speediest expedition
I will dispatch him to the Emperor's Court.
PAN. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other gentlemen of good esteem,
Are journeying to salute the Emperor,
And to commend their service to his will.
ANT. Good company; with them shall Proteus go:
And-in good time!-now will we break with1 him.
PRO. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!00
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
O heavenly Julia!
ANT. How now! what letter are you reading there?
PRO. May 't please your Lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendations sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
ANT. Lend me the letter: let me see what news.