girl, I’ll knit it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:
To be fantastic may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.
Luc.
What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
Jul.
That fits as well as “Tell me, good my lord,
What compass will you wear your farthingale?”
Why, ev’n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.
Luc.
You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.
Jul.
Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favor’d.
Luc.
A round hose, madam, now’s not worth a pin,
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.
Jul.
Lucetta, as thou lov’st me, let me have
What thou think’st meet, and is most mannerly.
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me
For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me it will make me scandaliz’d.
Luc.
If you think so, then stay at home and go not.
Jul.
Nay, that I will not.
Luc.
Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey when you come,
No matter who’s displeas’d when you are gone:
I fear me he will scarce be pleas’d withal.
Jul.
That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances of infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Luc.
All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul.
Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus’ birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
Luc.
Pray heav’n he prove so when you come to him!
Jul.
Now, as thou lov’st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love by loving him,
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,
To furnish me upon my longing journey.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
Come; answer not; but to it presently,
I am impatient of my tarriance.
Exeunt.
¶
ACT III
Scene I
Enter Duke, Thurio, Proteus.
Duke.
Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while,
We have some secrets to confer about.
[Exit Thurio.]
Now tell me, Proteus, what’s your will with me?
Pro.
My gracious lord, that which I would discover
The law of friendship bids me to conceal,
But when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me (undeserving as I am),
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know you have determin’d to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates,
And should she thus be stol’n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty’s sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
