Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour; And fo good-morrow, fervant. [Exit SILVIA. Speed. O jelt unseen, infcrutable, invisible, As a nofe on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple ! O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? Val. How now, fir? what are you reasoning with your felf? Speed. Nay, I was rhiming; 'tis you that have the reafon. Val. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Val. To whom? Speed. To yourself: why, fhe wooes you by a figure. Val. What figure? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why, the hath not writ to me? Speed. What need fhe, when she made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me. Speed. No believing you indeed, fir: But did you perceive her earnest? Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, the hath given you a letter. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath the deliver'd, and there an end. Val. I would, it were no worse. Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well: For often you have writ to her; and she, in modefty, Or |