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Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone :
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,
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 are 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 chainber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation;

Only, in lieu thereof, despatch me hence: · Come, answer not, but to it presently; I am impatient of my tarriance.

[Exeunt. ACT III.

SCENE I.-Milan. An Anti-room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter DUKE, THunio, 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, The law of friendship bids me to conceal : But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that, Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter; Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know, you have determin’d to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; And should she thus be stolen away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; Which to requite, command me while I live.

This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep;
And oftentimes have purpos’d to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn’d,)
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That, which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may’st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis’d 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 honour, he shall never know,
That I had any light from thee of this.

Pro. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. [Exit.

Enter VALENTINE.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ?'

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,

And I am going to deliver them.

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 louch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.

Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father : And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, I now am full resolved to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in : Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; For me and my possessions she esteems not.

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this?

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here,
Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy,
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to court:

Besides, the fashion of the time is chang’d;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

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. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you : If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone; For why, the fools are mad if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away : Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke. But she, I mean, is promis’d by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock’d, and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night.

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window?

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

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