Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns; The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, Luc. But in what habit will you go along? Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots; To be fantastic may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your -breeches? Jul. That fits as well, as-" tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece, madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta; that will be ill favored. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, I fear me, it will make me scandalized. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: His words are bonds, his oaths arc oracles; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him! Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth; Only deserve my love, by loving him; And presently go with me to my chamber, A journey which she shall pass in longing. [Exeunt. ! ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. An Anteroom in the Duke's Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; We have some secrets to confer about. [Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, But, when I call to mind your gracious favors My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, grave. Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. 1 i. e. guess. I (A rashness that I ever yet have shunned,) Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Enter VALENtine. [Exit. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Duke. Be they of much import? Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, And turn her out to who will take her in: Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her: Send her another; never give her o'er; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. you, If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of 1 For whereas, often used by old writers. |