Valentine.
Cease to persuade, my loving Protheus;
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits;
Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would intreat thy company,
To see the wonders of the world abroad;
Than (living dully sluggardiz'd at home)
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein;
Ev'n as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro.
Wilt thou be gone? sweet Valentine, adieu;
Think on thy Protheus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy Prayer;
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.

Val.
And on a love-book pray for my success?

Pro.
Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.

Val.
That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

Pro.
That's a deep story of a deeper love;
For he was more than over shoes in love.

Val.
'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swom the Hellespont.

Pro.
Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.(2) ^note

Val.
No, I will not; for it boots thee not.

Pro.
What?

Val.
To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights.
If haply won, perhaps, an hapless gain:
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit;
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro.
So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

Val.
So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.

Pro.
'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love.

Val.
Love is your master; for he masters you.
And he that is so yoaked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

Pro.
Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells; so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val.
And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker, ere it blow;
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud;
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more, adieu: my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

Pro.
And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Val.
Sweet Protheus, no: now let us take our leave.
At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters
Of thy success in love; and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend:
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

Pro.
All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

Val.
As much to you at home; and so, farewel! [Exit.

Pro.
He after honour hunts, I after love;
He leaves his friends to dignify them more;
I leave my self, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak; heart sick with thought. Enter Speed.

Speed.
Sir Protheus, save you; saw you my master?

Pro.
But now he parted hence, t'imbark for Milan.

Speed.
Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

Pro.
Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be awhile away.

Speed.

You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep?

Pro.

I do.

Speed.

Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

Pro.

A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

Speed.

This proves me still a sheep.

Pro.

True; and thy master a shepherd.

Speed.

Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

Pro.

It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another.

Speed.

The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; therefore I am no sheep.

Pro.

The sheep for fodder follows the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee; therefore thou art a sheep.

Speed.

Such another proof will make me cry Baâ.

Pro.

But dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

Speed.

Ay, Sir, I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd mutton(23) ^note




; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

Pro.

Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

Speed.

If the ground be over-charg'd, you were best stick her.

Pro.

Nay, in that you are a stray(4) ^note; 'twere best pound you.

Speed.

Nay, Sir, less than a pound shall serve 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 said she; did she nod?

Speed.

I.

Pro.

Nod-I? why, that's noddy.

Speed.
You mistook, Sir; I said, she did nod:
And you ask me, if she did nod; and I said, I.

Pro.

And that set together, is noddy.

Speed.

Now you have taken the pains to set 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.

Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

Speed.

And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Pro.

Come, come, open the matter in brief; what said she?

Speed.

Open your purse, that the mony and the matter may be both at once deliver'd.

Pro.
Well, Sir, here is for your pains, what said she?

Speed.
Truly, Sir, I think, you'll hardly win her.

Pro.
Why? could'st thou perceive so much from her?

Speed.
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her;
No, not so much as a ducket for delivering your letter.
And being so hard to me that brought your mind,
I fear, she'll prove as hard to you in telling her mind.
Give her no token but stones; for she's as hard as steel.

Pro.
What, said she nothing?

Speed.
No, not so much as—take this for thy pains:
To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me:

In requital whereof, henceforth carry your letter your self: and so, Sir, I'll commend you to my master.

Pro.
Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wrack,
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore.
I must go send some better messenger:
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exeunt severally.

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