Sir Protheus, thou art my love-monger, and speakest skilfully, —What says Silvia to my suit?

Pro.
My lord, I find her milder than she was,
And yet she takes exception to your person.

Thu.
How! at my person! what, that my leg is too long?

Pro.
No, that it is too little.

Thu.
Well—I can make it something rounder;
But what says she to my face?

Pro.
She says it is a fair one.

Thu.
Nay, then, the wanton lyes; my face is black.

Pro.
But pearls are fair; and the old saying is,
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies eyes.

Julia. [Aside.]
And there are pearls that put out ladies eyes.

Thurio.
How likes she may discourse?

Pro.
Ill, when you talk of war.

Thurio.
But well, when I discourse of love and peace.

Julia. [Aside.]
But better, when you hold your peace.

Thurio.
What says she to my valour?

Pro.
O, my lord, she makes no doubt of that.

Julia. [Aside.]
Because, I suppose, his cowardice is recorded.

Thurio.
What says she to my birth?

Pro.
That you are well deriv'd.

Julia. [Aside.]
True, from a lord to a fool.

Thurio.
Considers she my possessions?

Pro.
Oh, ay, and wonders at them.

Thurio.
Wherefore?

Julia. [Aside.]
That such an ass should own them.

Thurio.
But, friend, what says she to my accomplishments?
My poetry, my music, and my voice?

Pro.
O my dear lord, we have not time t'enlarge
On all your parts—for see—here comes the duke— Enter the Duke.

Duke.
How now, sir Protheus? how now Thurio?
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late?

Thurio.
Not I.

Pro.
Nor I.

Duke.
Saw you my daughter?

Pro.
Neither.

Duke.
Why then,
She's fled unto the banish'd Valentine;
And Eglamour is in her company.
'Tis true; for friar Laurence met them both,
As he in penance wander'd from the forest,
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she;
But being mask'd, he was not sure of it.
Besides, she did intend confession
At Patrick's cell this morn, and there she was not:
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
But mount you presently, and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot,
That leads tow'rds Mantua, whither they fled.
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit Duke.

Thurio.
Why this it is to be a peevish girl,
That flies her fortune where it follows her:
I'll after more to be reveng'd of Eglamour,
Than for the love I bear to Silvia.

Pro.
And I will follow more for Silvia's love,
Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit. Pro.

Julia.
And I will follow more to cross that love,
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. Julia.

Thurio.
Nay if they're all for foll'wing—I'll stay here,
And polish up this jewel of my brain—which, were
It finish'd, would melt the coldest maid to
Raptures—[takes a song out] la, la, la.
This will do—an exquisite idea!—la, la, la. Enter a Servant of the Duke's hastily.

Serv.
My lord—his grace is waiting for you—sir
Protheus has gallop'd off.—

Thurio.
And we'll gallop after him—fal, fal, fal.—
I'll wait upon his grace.
[Exit Servant.] fal, fal, fal. [Exit Thurio singing.

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