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Pro. Upon fome book I love I'll pray for thee. Val. To be in love, where fcorn is bought with groans, Coy looks, with heart-fore fighs; one moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; If haply won, perhaps an hapless gain; If loft, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit, Or elfe a wit by folly vanquished.
Pro. So by your circumstance you call me fool.
Val. Love is your mafter; for he masters you.
Pro. Yet writers fay, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells; fo eating love Inhabits in the fineft wits of all.
Val. And writers fay, as the moft forward bud
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Val. Sweet Protbeus, no: now let us take our leave.. At Milan let me hear from thee by letters Of thy fuccefs in love; and what news elfe
I'll pray for thee.
Val. That's on fome fhallow ftory of deep love, How young Leander crof'd the Hellefpont.
Pro. That's a deep ftory of a deeper love; For he was more than aver fhoes in love.
Val 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never fwom the Hellefpont.
Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.
Val. To be in love, &c.
Betideth here in abfence of thy friend :
Speed. Sir Protheus, fave you; faw you, Sir, my mafter?
Pro. Indeed a fheep doth very often stray,
Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a fheep?
Pro. I do.
Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or fleep.
Pro. A filly anfwer, and fitting well a sheep.
Pro. True; and thy mafter a fhepherd.
Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It fhall go hard but I'll prove it by another. Speed. The fhepherd seeks the sheep, and not the fheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; therefore I am no fheep.
Pro. The fheep for fodder follows the fhepherd, the fhepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee; therefore thou art a fheep.
Speed. Such another proof will make me cry Baå.
Speed, Ay, Sir; I, a loft-mutton, gave your letter to
her, a lac'd-mutton *; and the a lac'd-mutton, gave me a loft-mutton, nothing for my
Pro. Here's too fmall a pasture for fuch store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be over-charg'd, you were beft
Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray 'twere beft pound you, Speed. Nay, Sir, less than a pound fhall farve me for carrying your letter.
Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pin-fold. Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, "Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover, Pro. But what faid fhe ?
Speed. She nodded and said, I.
Pro. Nad-I? why, that's noddy.
Speed. You mistook, Sir; I faid, fhe did nod: if fhe did nod; and I faid, ay.
afk me Pro. And that fet together, is noddy.
Speed. Now you have taken the pains to fet it together, take it for your pains.
Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you, Pro. Why, Sir, how do you bear with me? Speed. Marry, Sir, the letter very orderly, Having nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Pro. Befhrew me but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your flow purse. Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief; what faid fhe?
Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both deliver❜d.
Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your pains; what faid fhe? Speed. Truly, Sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why? could't thou perceive so much from her? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; No, not fo much as a ducket for delivering your letter. And being fo hard to me that brought your mind, I fear fhe'll prove as hard to you in telling her mind. Give her no token but ftones; for the's as hard as steel. Pro. What, faid the nothing?
↑ Lac'd mutton is a phrase anciently used for a lady of pleasure.
Speed. No, not fo much as take this for thy pains:
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to fave your fhip from wreck,
Jul. But fay, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Luc. Ay, Madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.
Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll fhew my mind,
Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
Jul. What think'ft thou of the rich Mercatio?
Jul. Why not on Protheus as on all the reft?
Luc. Then thus; of many good, I think him best.
Luc. I have no other but a woman's reafon ;
I think him fo, because I think him fo.
Ful. And would't thou have me cast my love on him?
Jul. His little fpeaking fhews his love but small.
Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and fent, I think, from Pro-
Jul. Now, by my modefty, a goodly broker!
There, take the paper; fee it be return'd,
Luc. To plead for love deferves more fee than hate.
Luc. That you may ruminate.
Jul. And yet I would I had o'er-look'd the letter. It were a fhame to call her back again,
And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her,