Imatges de pàgina
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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, I

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.

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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?
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,

5 Matchmaker.

And ask remission for my folly past:

What ho! Lucetta!

Luc.

Re-enter LUCETTA.

What would your ladyship?

I would it were;

Jul. Is it near dinner-time?

Luc.

That

you might kill your stomach on your meat,

And not upon your maid.

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Jul.

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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 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 burden then.
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing

it.

Jul. And why not you?

Luc.

Jul. Let's see your song:

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Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:

And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.

Jul. You do not?

Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat,

6 Passion or obstinacy.

And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:'
There wanteth but a mean' to fill your song.

Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Luc. Indeed, I did the base for Proteus.

Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation !

[Tears the letter. 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.

[Exit. 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;

As in revenge of thy ingratitude,

unkind Julia!

I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
Look, 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 sovereign 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

2 The tenor in musick.

I A term in musick.
A challenge. 4 Bustle, stir.

He couples it to his complaining names:
Thus will I fold them one upon another;
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Re-enter LUCetta.

Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father stays.

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 say what sights you

see;

I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [Exeunt.

The same.

SCENE III.

A room in Antonio's House.

Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO.

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad' talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him?

Pant. 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.

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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' to 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 atchiev'd,

And perfected by the swift course of time:
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?
Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant,
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.
Ant. I know it well.

Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:

There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen;
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 execution

I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.
Pant. To morrow, may it please you, Don Al-
phonso,

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 with him.'

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7 Reproach. 8 Break the matter to him.

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