Jul.
How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Protheus, thou hast entertain'd
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs:
Alas?—Poor fool! why do I pity him,
That with his very heart despiseth me?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
Because I love him, I must pity him:
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,
To bind him to remember my good will.
And now I am, unhappy messenger,
To plead for that, which I would not obtain;
To carry that, which I would have refus'd;^{5 note}
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd.
I am my master's true confirmed love,
But cannot be true servant to my master,

Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly,
As, heav'n it knows, I would not have him speed. Enter Silvia.
Gentlewoman, good day; I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.

Sil.
What would you with her, if that I be she?

Jul.
If you be she, I do intreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.

Sil.
From whom?

Jul.
From my master, Sir Protheus, Madam.

Sil.
Oh! he sends you for a picture?

Jul.
Ay, Madam.

Sil.
Ursula, bring my picture there.
Go, give your master this: tell him from me,
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Jul.
Madam, may't please you to peruse this letter.
—Pardon me, Madam, I have unadvis'd
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not;
This is the letter to your ladyship.

Sil.
I pray thee, let me look on that again.

Jul.
It may not be; good Madam, pardon me.

Sil.
There, hold;
I will not look upon your master's lines;
I know, they're stuft with protestations,
And full of new-found oaths; which he will break,
As easily as I do tear his paper.

Jul.
Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.

Sil.
The more shame for him, that he sends it me;
For, I have heard him say a thousand times,
His Julia gave it him at his departure:
Tho' his false finger have profan'd the ring,
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.

Jul.
She thanks you.

Sil.
What say'st thou?

Jul.
I thank you, Madam, that you tender her;
Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.

Sil.
Dost thou know her?

Jul.
Almost as well, as I do know myself.
To think upon her woes, I do protest
That I have wept an hundred several times.

Sil.
Belike, she thinks, that Protheus hath forsook her.

Jul.
I think, she doth; and that's her cause of sorrow.

Sil.
Is she not passing fair?

Jul.
She hath been fairer, Madam, than she is:
When she did think, my master lov'd her well,
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you.
But since she did neglect her looking-glass,
And threw her sun-expelling mask away;
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks,
And pinch'd the lilly-tincture of her face,^{6 note}

That now she is become as black as I.

Sil.
How tall was she?

Jul.
About my stature: for at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
And I was trim'd in Madam Julia's gown;
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments,
As if the garment had been made for me;
Therefore, I know, she is about my height.
And at that time I made her weep a-good,
For I did play a lamentable part,
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning
For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
Which I so lively acted with my tears,
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead,
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!

Sil.
She is beholden to thee, gentle youth.
Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!
I weep myself, to think upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
Farewel. [Exit Silvia.

Jul.
And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful.
I hope, my master's suit will be but cold;
Since she respects my mistress' love so much.
Alas! how love can trifle with itself!
Here is her picture; let me see; I think,
If I had such a tire, this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers:
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow.
If that be all the diff'rence in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;

Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine is high.^{7 note}
What should it be, that he respects in her,
But I can make respective in myself,
If this fond love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come; and take this shadow up;
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd and ador'd;
And were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead.^{8 note}