Pro.
Already I've been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer:
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her,
She twits me with my falshood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
She bids me think how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd.
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips,

The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,
And give some evening music to her ear. Enter Thurio, Musicians, &c.

Thu.
How now, sir Protheus; are you crept before us?

Pro.
Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know, that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go.

Thu.
Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here?

Pro.
Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

Thu.
Whom, Silvia?

Pro.
Ay, Silvia, for your sake.

Thu.
I thank you for your own: now, gentlemen,
Let's tune and to it lustily a while.

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