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Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Luc. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion, which is worthiest love?
Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew my mind According to my shallow simple skill.
Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; But, were I you, he never should be mine.
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ?
Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason;
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 rest, I think, best loves ye. Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Luc. Fire, that is 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.
Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker !
Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile!
Luc. I would it were ;
Jul. What is't you took up
Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,
Jul. Some love of yours 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 :
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
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. Nay, now you are too flat,
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
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 annends. 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. 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 tlırice, was Proteus written down? Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away,
Till I have found each letter in the letter,
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? [Ereunt.
SCENE III.—The same. A Room in Antonio's House.
Enter Antonio and Panthino.
Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.