Speed. Open your purfe, that the money and the matter may be both at once deliver'd.

Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your pains; what said she? Speed. Truly, Sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why couldft thou perceive fo much from her?

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; No, not fo much as a ducket for delivering your letter. And being fo hard to me that brought your mind, I fear fhe'll prove as hard to you in telling her mind. Give her no token but stones; for fhe's as hard as steel. Pro. What, faid the nothing?

Speed. No, not fo much as-Take this for thy pains: To teftify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd

me:

In requital whereof, henceforth carry your letter yourfelf: and fo, Sir, I'll commend you to my master.

Pro Go, go, begone, to fave your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being deftin'd to a drier death on shore. I must go fend fome better meffenger: I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, Receiving them from fuch a worthless post.

[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE III. Changes to Julia's chamber.
Enter Julia and Lucetta,

Jul. But fay, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Would't thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Luc. Ay, Madam, so you ftumble not unheedfully.
Jul. Of all the fair refort of gentlemen,

That ev'ry day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthieft love?

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

According to my fhallow fimple skill.

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

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

Luc.

Luc. Lord, Lord! to fee what folly reigns in us! Jul. How now? what means this paflion at his

name?

Luc. Pardon, dear Madam; 'tis a paffing fhame, That I, unworthy body as I am,

Should cenfure thus on lovely gentlemen.

Jul. Why not on Protheus, as of all the reft ?
Luc. Then thus: of many good, I think him best.
Jul. Your reason?

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reafon ;

I think him fo, becaufe I think him fo.

Jul. And would'st thou have me caft 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 reft, I think, beft loves ye.
Jul. His little fpeaking fhews his love but small.
Luc. The fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.
Jul. They do not love, that do not fhew their love.
Luc. Oh, they love leaft, that let men know their
love.

Jul. I would I knew his mind.
Luc. Perufe this paper, Madam.
Jul. To Julia; fay, from whom?
Luc. That the contents will fhew.
Jul. Say, fay; who gave it thee?

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from
Protheus,

He would have giv'n it you; but I being in the way,
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.
Jul. Now, by my modefty, a goodly broker!
Dare you prefume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and confpire 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 fight.

Luc. To plead for love deferves more fee than hate. Jul. Will ye be gone?

Luc. That you may ruminate.

[Exit.

Ful. And yet I would I had o'erlook'd the letter.

It were a fhame to call her back again,

And

And pray her to a fault, for which I chid hér.
What fool is fhe, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view?
Since maids, in modelty, fay No, to that
Which they would have the proff'rer conftrue, Ay.
Fy, fy; how wayward is this foolish love,
That, like a tefty babe, will fcratch the nurse,
And prefently, all humbled, kiss the rod ?
How churlifhly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
When inward joy enforce'd my heart to fmile!
My penance is to call Lucetta back,

And afk remiffion for my folly past.
What ho! Lucetta!

Re-enter Lucetta.

Luc. What would your Ladyfhip?

Jul. Is't near dinner-time?

Luc. I would it were,

That you might kill your

ftomach on your meat,

And not upon your mind.
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.
Ful. And is that paper nothing?

Luc. Nothing concerning me.

Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.
Luc. Madam, it will not lye where it concerns,

Unless it have a falfe interpreter.

Jul. Some love of your's hath writ to you in rhimë.
Luc. That I might fing it, Madam, to a tune:

Give me a note; your Ladyfhip can set.

ful. As little by fuch toys as may be poffible:

Beft fing it to the tune of Light o' love.

Luc. It is too heavy for fo light a tune.

Jul. Heavy! belike, it hath fome burthen then.
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you fing it.
Jul. And why not you?

Luc. I cannot reach fo high.

Jul.

Jul. Let's fee your fong:

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 fharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too faucy.

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat.

And mar the concord with too harsh a defcant:
There wanteth but a mean to fill your fong.
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Luc. Indeed I bid the bafe for Protheus.
Jul. This babble fhall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with proteftation!

Go, get you gone; and let the papers

lie:

You would be fingering them to anger me.

[Tears it.

Luc. She makes it ftrange, but she would be best pleas'd

To be fo anger'd with another letter.

[Exit.

Ful. Nay, would I were fo anger'd with the fame!
Oh hateful hands, to tear fuch loving words!
Injurious wafps, to feed on fuch fweet honey,
And kill the bees that yield it, with your stings!
I'll kifs each feveral paper for amends:
Look, here is writ kind Julia;-unkind Julia !
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,

I throw thy name against the bruising stones;
Trampling contemptuoufly on thy difdain.
Look, here it writ, Love-wounded Protheus.
Poor wounded name! my bofom, as a bed,
Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be througly heal'd;
And thus I fearch it with a fov'reign kifs.
But, twice or thrice, was Protheus 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 fome whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,
And throw it thence into the raging fea!
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:
Poor forlorn Protheus, paffionate Protheus,
To the fweet Julia: that I'll tear away ;
And yet I will not, fith fo prettily

He

He couples it to his complaining names.
Thus will I fold them one upon another;
Now kits, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Enter Lucetta.

Luc. Madam, dinner is ready, and your father ftays. Jul. Well, let us go.

Luc. What, fhall these papers lie like tell-tales here? Jul. If thou respect them, beft to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they fhall not lie, for catching cold.

Jul I fee you have a month's mind to them. Luc Ay, Madam, you may fay what fights you fee: I fee things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, will't pleafe you go?

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Anthonio's house.

Enter Anthonio and Panthion.

Ant. Tell me, Panthion, what fad talk was that Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Protheus, your fon. Ant. Why, what of him?

Pant. He wonder'd that your Lordship
Would fuffer him to spend his youth at home,
While other men of flender reputation
Put forth their fons to feek preferment out:
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some to difcover iflands far away;

Some to the ftudious univerfities.
For any, or for all these exercises,

He faid that Protheus your fon was meet:
And did request me to importune you,

To let him spend his time no more at home;

Which would be great impeachment to his age,

In having known no travel in his youth.

Ant. Nor need'ft thou much importune me to that, Whereon this month I have been hammering,

I have confider'd well his lofs of time;
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world.
Experience is by induftry atchiev'd,