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,
Even 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 Prayers;
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.

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 Night,
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 yoked 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, e'er 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 Millan 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 Millan.

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

Pro.
He after Honours hunts, I after Love;
He leaves his Friends, to dignifie them more;
I love 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 to embark for Millan.

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

Pro.
Indeed a Sheep doth very often stray,
And if the Shepherd be a while 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 follow 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; 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 astray; '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?

Speed.
Ay.

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, Ay.

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 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 testifie 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. SCENE II. Enter Julia and Lucetta.

Jul.
But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in Love?

Luc.
Ay, Madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

Jul.
Of all the fair Resort of Gentlemen,
That every Day with Parle encounter me,
In thy Opinion which is worthiest Love?

Luc.
Please you repeat their Names, I'll shew my Mind,
According to my shallow simple Skill.

Jul.
What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

Luc.
As of a Knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
But were I you, he never should be mine,

Jul.
What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

Luc.
Well of his Wealth; but of himself so, so.

Jul.
What think'st thou of the gentle Protheus?

Luc.
Lord, Lord! to see what Folly reigns in us.

Jul.
How now? what means this Passion at his Name?

Luc.
Pardon, dear Madam; 'tis a passing Shame,
That I, unworthy Body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely Gentlemen.

Jul.
Why not on Protheus, as of all the rest?

Luc.
Then thus; of many good, I think him best.

Jul.
Your Reason?

Luc.
I have no other but a Woman's Reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.

Jul.
And wouldst thou have me cast my Love on him?

Luc.
Ay, if you thought your Love not cast away.

Jul.
Why he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.

Luc.
Yet he, of all the rest, I think best loves ye.

Jul.
His little speaking shews his Love but small.

Luc.
Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

Jul.
They do not love that do not shew their Love.

Luc.
Oh, they love least that let Men know their Love.

Jul.
I would I knew his Mind.

Luc.
Peruse this Paper, Madam.

Jul.
To Julia; say, from whom?

Luc.
That the Contents will shew.

Jul.
Say, say; who gave it thee?

Luc.
Sir Valentine's Page; and sent, I think, from Protheus.
He would have given it you, but I being in the Way,
Did in your Name receive it; pardon the Fault, I pray.

Jul.
Now, by my Modesty, a goodly Broker;
Dare you presume to harbour wanton Lines?
To whisper and conspire against my Youth?
Now trust me, 'tis an Office of great Worth,
And you an Officer fit for the Place.
There; take the Paper; see it be return'd,
Or else return no more into my Sight.

Luc.
To plead for Love deserves more Fee than Hate.

Jul.
Will ye be gone?

Luc.
That you may ruminate. [Exit.

Jul.
And yet I would I had o'er-look'd the Letter.
It were a shame to call her back again,
And pray her to a Fault, for which I chid her.
What Fool is she that knows I am a Maid,
And would not force the Letter to my View?
Since Maids, in Modesty, say No to that
Which they would have the Profferer construe, Ay.
Fie, fie; how way-ward is this foolish Love,
That, like a testy Babe, will scratch the Nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the Rod?
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here?
How angerly I taught my Brow to frown,
When inward Joy enforc'd my Heart to smile?
My Penance is, to call Lucetta back,
And ask Remission for my Folly past.
What ho! Lucetta! Re-enter Lucetta.

Luc.
What would your Ladyship?

Jul.
Is't near Dinner-time?

Luc.
I would it were,
That you might kill your Stomach on your Meat,
And not upon your Maid.

Jul.
What is't that you
Took up so gingerly?

Luc.
Nothing.

Jul.
Why didst thou stoop then?

Luc.
To take a Paper up that I let fall.

Jul.
And is that Paper nothing?

Luc.
Nothing concerning me.

Jul.
Then let it lye for those that it concerns.

Luc.
Madam, it will not lye where it concerns,
Unless it have a false Interpreter.

Jul.
Some Love of yours hath writ to you in Rime.

Luc.
That I might sing it, Madam, to a Tune;
Give a Note; your Ladyship can set.

Jul.
As little by such Toys as may be possible;
Best sing it to the Tune of Light O Love.

Luc.
It is too heavy for so light a Tune.

Jul.
Heavy? belike it hath some Burthen then.

Luc.
Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.

Jul.
And why not you?

Luc.
I cannot reach so high.

Jul.
Let's see your Song:
How now Minion?

Luc.
Keep Tune there still, so you will sing it out:
And yet methinks I do not like this Tune.

Jul.
You do not?

Luc.
No, Madam, 'tis too sharp.

Jul.
You, Minion, are too sawcy.

Luc.
Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the Concord with too harsh a Descant:
There wanteth but a Mean to fill your Song.

Jul.
The Mean is drown'd with your unruly Base.

Luc.
Indeed I bid the base for Protheus.

Jul.
This Babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a Coil with Protestation!
Go, get you gone; and let the Papers lye:
You would be fingring them to anger me.

Luc.
She makes it strange, but she would be best pleas'd
To be so anger'd with another Letter. [Exit.

Jul.
Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!
Oh hateful Hands, to tear such loving Words;
Injurious Wasps, to feed on such sweet Honey,
And kill the Bees that yield it with your Stings!
I'll kiss each several Paper for amends:
Look, here is writ, kind Julia; unkind Julia!
As in revenge of thy Ingratitude,
I throw thy Name against the bruising Stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy Disdain.
And here is writ, Love-wounded Protheus.
Poor wounded Name; my Bosom, as a Bed,
Shall lodge thee 'till thy Wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I search it with a soveraign Kiss.
But twice or thrice was Protheus written down:
Be calm, good Wind, blow not a Word away,
'Till I have found each Letter in the Letter,
Except mine own Name: That some Whirl-wind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging Rock,
And throw it thence into the raging Sea.
Lo, here in one Line is his Name twice writ:
Poor forlorn Protheus, passionate Protheus:
To the sweet Julia: That I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining Names:
Thus will I fold them one upon another:
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Enter Lucetta.

Luc.
Madam, Dinner is ready, and your Father stays.

Jul.
Well, let us go.

Luc.
What, shall these Papers lye, like tell-tales here?

Jul.
If you respect them, best to take them up.

Luc.
Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lye for catching cold.

Jul.
I see you have a Month's mind to them.

Luc.
Ay, Madam, you may say what Sights you see:
I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Jul.
Come, come, wilt please you go? [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Enter Anthonio and Panthion.

Ant.
Tell me, Panthion, what sad Talk was that
Wherewith my Brother held you in the Cloyster?

Pant.
'Twas of his Nephew Protheus, your Son.

Ant.
Why, what of him?

Pant.
He wonder'd that your Lordship
Would suffer him to spend his Youth at home,
While other Men of slender Reputation
Put forth their Sons to seek Preferment out:
Some to the Wars, to try their Fortune there;
Some to discover Islands far away;
Some to the studious Universities.
For any, or for all these Exercises,
He said, that Protheus, your Son, was meet;
And did request me to importune you
To let him spend his time no more at home;
Which would be great Impeachment to his Age,
In having known no Travel in his Youth.

Ant.
Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
Whereon this Month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of Time;
And how he cannot be a perfect Man,
Not being try'd, nor tutor'd in the World:
Experience is by Industry atchiev'd,
And perfected by the swift Course to time;
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?

Pant.
I think your Lordship is not ignorant,
How his Companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the Emperor in his Royal Court.

Ant.
I know it well.

Pant.
'Twere good, I think, your Lordship sent him thither;
There shall he practise Tilts and Turnaments;
Hear sweet Discourse, converse with Noblemen,
And be in Eye of every Exercise
Worthy his Youth, and Nobleness of Birth.

Ant.
I like thy Counsel; well hast thou advis'd:
And that thou may'st perceive how well I like it,
The Execution of it shall make known;

Even with the speediest Expedition
I will dispatch him to the Emperor's Court.

Pant.
To Morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other Gentlemen of good Esteem,
Are journeying to salute the Emperor,
And to commend their Service to his Will.

Ant.
Good Company: With them shall Protheus go.
And in good time, now will we break with him. Enter Protheus.

Pro.
Sweet Love, sweet Lines, sweet Life;
Here is her Hand, the Agent of her Heart;
Here is her Oath for Love, her Honour's Pawn.
O that our Fathers would applaud our Loves,
To seal our Happiness with their Consents.
Oh heav'nly Julia!

Ant.
How now? What Letter are you reading there?

Pro.
May't please your Lordship, 'tis a Word or two
Of Commendation sent from Valentine;
Deliver'd by a Friend that came from him.

Ant.
Lend me the Letter; let me see what News.

Pro.
There is no News, my Lord, but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well belov'd,
And daily graced by the Emperor;
Wishing me with him, Partner of his Fortune.

Ant.
And how stand you affected to his Wish?

Pro.
As one relying on your Lordship's Will,
And not depending on his friendly Wish.

Ant.
My Will is something sorted with his Wish:
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will; and there's an End.
I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentino in the Emp'ror's Court:
What Maintenance he from his Friends receives,
Like Exhibition thou shalt have from me:
To Morrow be in readiness to go.
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

Pro.
My Lord, I cannot be so soon provided;
Please you deliberate a Day or two.

Ant.
Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee:
No more of Stay; to Morrow thou must go.
Come on, Panthion; you shall be imploy'd

To hasten on his Expedition. [Exe. Ant. and Pant.

Pro.
Thus have I shunn'd the Fire for fear of burning,
And drench'd me in the Sea, where I am drown'd:
I fear'd to shew my Father Julia's Letter,
Lest he should take Exceptions to my Love;
And with the vantage of mine own Excuse,
Hath he excepted most against my Love.
Oh, how this Spring of Love resembleth
The uncertain Glory of an April Day,
Which now shews all the Beauty of the Sun,
And by and by a Cloud takes all away. Enter Panthion.

Pant.
Sir Protheus, your Father calls for you;
He is in haste, therefore I pray you go.

Pro.
Why this it is: My Heart accords thereto,
And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt.

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