William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

JULIA.

What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus?

LUCETTA.

Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

JULIA.

How now! what means this passion at his name?

LUCETTA.

Pardon, dear madam; ‘tis a passing shame

That I, unworthy body as I am,

Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

JULIA.

Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

LUCETTA.

Then thus,—of many good I think him best.

JULIA.

Your reason?

LUCETTA.

I have no other but a woman’s reason:

I think him so, because I think him so.

JULIA.

And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

LUCETTA.

Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

JULIA.

Why, he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

LUCETTA.

Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

JULIA.

His little speaking shows his love but small.

LUCETTA.

Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.

JULIA.

They do not love that do not show their love.

LUCETTA.

O! they love least that let men know their love.

JULIA.

I would I knew his mind.

LUCETTA.

Peruse this paper, madam. [Gives a letter.]

JULIA.

‘To Julia’—Say, from whom?

LUCETTA.

That the contents will show.

JULIA.

Say, say, who gave it thee?

LUCETTA.

Sir Valentine’s page, and sent, I think, from Proteus.

He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,

Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.

JULIA.

Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!

Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?

To whisper and conspire against my youth?

Now, trust me, ‘tis an office of great worth,

And you an officer fit for the place.

There, take the paper; see it be return’d;

Or else return no more into my sight.

LUCETTA.

To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

JULIA.

Will ye be gone?

LUCETTA.

That you may ruminate.

[Exit.]

JULIA.

And yet, I would I had o’erlook’d the letter.

It were a shame to call her back again,

And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.

What fool is she, that knows I am a maid

And would not force the letter to my view!

Since maids, in modesty, say ‘No’ to that

Which they would have the profferer construe ‘Ay.’

Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,

That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,

And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!

How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,

When willingly I would have had her here:

How angerly I taught my brow to frown,

When inward joy enforc’d my heart to smile.

My penance is, to call Lucetta back

And ask remission for my folly past.

What ho! Lucetta!

[Re-enter LUCETTA.]

LUCETTA.

What would your ladyship?

JULIA.

Is it near dinner time?

LUCETTA.

I would it were;

That you might kill your stomach on your meat

And not upon your maid.

JULIA.

What is’t that you took up so gingerly?

LUCETTA.

Nothing.

JULIA.

Why didst thou stoop, then?

LUCETTA.

To take a paper up

That I let fall.

JULIA.

And is that paper nothing?

LUCETTA.

Nothing concerning me.

JULIA.

Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

LUCETTA.

Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,

Unless it have a false interpreter.

JULIA.

Some love of yours hath writ to you in rime.

LUCETTA.

That I might sing it, madam, to a tune:

Give me a note: your ladyship can set.

JULIA.

As little by such toys as may be possible;

Best sing it to the tune of ‘Light o’ Love.’

LUCETTA.

It is too heavy for so light a tune.

JULIA.

Heavy! belike it hath some burden then?

LUCETTA.

Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.

JULIA.

And why not you?

LUCETTA.

I cannot reach so high.

JULIA.

Let’s see your song. [Taking the letter.]

How now, minion!

LUCETTA.

Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:

And yet methinks, I do not like this tune.

JULIA.

You do not?

LUCETTA.

No, madam; it is too sharp.

JULIA.

You, minion, are too saucy.

LUCETTA.

Nay, now you are too flat

And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;

There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

JULIA.

The mean is drown’d with your unruly bass.

LUCETTA.

Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.

JULIA.

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.

LUCETTA.

She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas’d

To be so anger’d with another letter.

[Exit.]

JULIA.

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 amends.

Look, 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.

And 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 thrice was ‘Proteus’ written down:

Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away

Till I have found each letter in the letter

Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear

Unto a ragged, fearful-hanging rock,

And throw it thence into the raging sea!

Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:

‘Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,

To the sweet Julia’:—that I’ll tear away;

And yet I will not, sith so prettily

He couples it to his complaining names:

Thus will I fold them one upon another:

Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.

[Re-enter LUCETTA.]

LUCETTA.

Madam,

Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

JULIA.

Well, let us go.

LUCETTA.

What! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?

JULIA.

If you respect them, best to take them up.

LUCETTA.

Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;

Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

JULIA.

I see you have a month’s mind to them.

LUCETTA.

Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;

I see things too, although you judge I wink.

JULIA.

Come, come; will’t please you go?

[Exeunt.]

SCENE 3. The same. A room in ANTONIO’S house.

[Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO.]

ANTONIO.

Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that

Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

PANTHINO.

‘Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

ANTONIO.

Why, what of him?

PANTHINO.

He wonder’d that your lordship

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,

While other men, of slender reputation,

Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:

Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;

Some to discover islands far away;

Some to the studious universities.

For any, or for all these exercises,

He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;

And did request me to importune you

To let him spend his time no more at home,

Which would be great impeachment to his age,

In having known no travel in his youth.