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SCENE V. The Same. A Street.
Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan.
Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I am not welcome. I reckon this always -- that a man is never undone, till he be hanged; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome.
Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house with you presently; where, for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia ?
Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him?
Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her.
Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not? My staff understands me.
Speed. What thou say'st ?
Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee I'll but lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.
Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.
Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will.
Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.
Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master has become a notable lover ?
Laun. I never knew him otherwise.
Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house, so; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.
Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? Speed. At thy service.
An Apartment in the Palace.
Myself in counsel, his competitor:
SCENE VII. Verona. A room in Julia's House.
Enter JULIA and LUCETTA.
Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns ; The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th’ enamelled stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course :
VOL. I. -7
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
Luc. But in what habit will you go along ?
Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair.
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
Jul. That fits as well, as — “tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale ?” Why, even what fashion thou best lik’st, Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece, madam, Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ; that will be ill favored.
Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.
Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect!
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 chamber, 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.
SCENE I. Milan. An Anteroom in the Duke's Palace.
Enter DUKE, THURIo, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; We have some secrets to confer about.
[Erit 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 favors 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 determined 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 purposed to forbid