Pro. Why then let her alone.

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own, And I as rich in having fuch a jewel, As twenty feas, if all their fand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, Because thou feeft me doat upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his poffeffions are fo huge, Is gone with her along, and I must after; For love, thou know'ft, is full of jealoufie. Pro. But fhe loves you?

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage, With all the cunning manner of our flight, Determin'd of; how I muft climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. Good Protheus, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before; I fhall enquire you forth. I muft unto the road, to disembark Some neceffaries that I needs must use; And then I'll presently attend upon you. Val. Will you make hafte? Pro. I will.

Ev'n as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by ftrength drives out another;
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eyne, or Valentino's praife?
Her true perfection or my falfe tranfgreffion,
That makes me reafonlefs to reafon thus ?
She's fair, and fo is Julia that I love;
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impreffion of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont,
O! but I love his lady too, too much;
And that's the reason I love him fo little.

[Exit Val.

How

How fhall I doat on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled fo my reason's light:
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reafon but I fhall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compafs her I'll ufe my skill.

[Exit.

SCENE VIII. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed. Launce, by mine honefty, welcome to Milan. Laun. Forfwear not thyfelf, fweet youth; for I am not welcome: I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, nor never welcome to a place 'till fome certain fhot be paid, and the hoftefs fay welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap; I'll to the alehouse with you presently, where, for one fhot of five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, Sirrah, how did thy mafter part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jeft.

Speed. But fhall fhe marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? fhall he marry her?
Laun. No, neither.

a

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.

Speed. Why then how stands the matter with them? Laun. Marry, thus; when it ftands well with him, ftands well with her*.

1.

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match?

Laun. Afk my dog: if he fay ay, it will; if he fay no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will,

· it ftands well with her.

Speed. What an afs art thou? I understand thee not. L. What a block art thou, that thou eauft not? My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou fay'st?

Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but leen and my ftaf understands me.

Speed. It stands under thee indeed.

Laun. Why, ftand under, and understand, is all one.

Speed. But tell me true, &c.
VOL. I,

Speed.

Speed. The conclufion is then, that it will. Layn. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it fo; but, Launce, how fay'st thou that my mafter is become a notable lover? Laun. I never knew him otherwise.

Speed. Than how?

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou whorefon afs, thou mistak'ft me. Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy mafter. Speed. I tell thee, my mafter is become a hot lover. Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not tho' he burn himfelf in love: If thou wilt go with me to the alehouse, fo; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Chriftian.

Speed. Why!

Laun. Because thou haft not so much charity in thee as to go to the alehoufe with a Chriftian: wilt thou go? Speed. At thy fervice.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX. Enter Protheus folus.
Pro. To leave my Julia, fhall I be forfworn:
To love fair Silvia, fhall I be forfworn:
To wrong my friend, I fhall be much forfworn:
And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
Love bad me fwear, and love bids me forfwear;
Ofweet fuggefting love, if thou haft finn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted fubject, to excufe it.
At first I did adore a twinkling ftar,
But now I worship a celeftial fun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit that wants refolved will,
To learn his wit t'exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad,
Whose fov'reignty fo oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand foul-confirmed oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do :
But there I leave to love where I fhould love:
Julia I lofe, and Valentine I lofe:
If I keep them, I eeds mult lofe myself :

If I lose them, this find I by their lofs,
For Valentine, myself, for Julia, Silvia :
I to myself am dearer than a friend ;
For love is ftill most precious in itself:
And Silvia, (witnefs heav'n, that made her fair!)
Shews Julia but a fwarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembring that my love to her is dead:
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a fweeter friend.
I cannot now prove conftant to myself,
Without fome treachery us'd to Valentine:
This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celeftial Silvia's chamber-window,
Myself in counsel his competitor.
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their difguifing, and pretended flight:
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine:
For Thurio, he intends, fhall wed his daughter.
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By fome fly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings, to make my purpofe fwift,
As thou haft lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit.
SCENE X. Verona. Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. Counfel, Lucetta; gentle girl, affift me,
And even in kind love I do conjure thee,
# Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are vifibly character'd and engrav'd,
To leffon me, and tell me some good mean,
How with my honour I may undertake
A journey to my loving Protheus.

Luc. Alas, the way is wearifome and long.
Jul. A true devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps,
Much less fhall fhe, that hath love's wings to fly :
And when the flight is made to one fo dear,
Of fuch divine perfection as Sir Protheus.

Luc. Better forbear 'till Protheus make return.
Jul. Oh, know'st thou not his looks are my foul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,

R

By longing for that food fo long a time.
Didft thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would'ft as foon go kindle fire with fnow,
As feek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luc. I do not feek to quench your love's hot fire,
But qualifie the fire's extreameft rage,
Left it should burn above the bounds of reason.

Jul. The more thou damm'ft it up, the more it burns; The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'ft, being ftopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair courfe is not hindered,

He makes fweet mufick with th' enamel'd ftones,
Giving a gentle kifs to every fedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage:
And fo by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing fport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my courfe;
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a paftime of each weary step,
"Till the laft ftep have brought me to my love;
And there I'll reft, as, after much turmoil,
A bleffed foul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loofe encounters of lafcivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with fuch weeds
As may befeem fome well-reputed page.

Luc. Why then your ladyship muft cut your hair.
Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in filken ftrings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:
To be fantastick may become a youth
Of greater time than I fhall fhew to be.

Luc. What fashion, Madam, fhall I make your breeches? Jul. That fits as well, as tell me, good my lord, What compafs will you wear your farthingale? Why, even what fashion thou beft lik'ft, Lucetta.

Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece, Madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hofe, Madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.

Jul.