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Jul. What is't that you
Luc. Madam, it will not lie, where it concerns;
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhime.
Luc. That I might fing it, madam, to a tune : Give me a note; your ladyship can fet.
Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible:
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul. Let's see your song:
Luc. Keep tune there ftill, so you will fing it out : And
yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat.
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation!
(Tears it. Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them, to anger me. (pleas'd
Luc. She makes it ftrange, but she would be best 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. Look, 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 sov'reign 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 fea! Lo, here in one Line is his name twice writ: Poor forlorn Protheus, passionate Protheus, To the fureet Julia : that I'll tear away ; And yet I will not, fith 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 lie like tell-tales here? Jul. If thou respect theni, best to take them up.
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
Jul. I fee, you have a month's mind to them.
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what fights you fee: I see things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, will’t please you go? (Exeunt.
ELL me, Panthion, what fad talk was that,
cloister? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Protheus, your
fon. Ant. Why, what of him?
Pant. He wonder'd that your lordship
Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that,
Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignoran,
Ant. I know it well.
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
Ant. I like thy counsel; well haft thou advis'd :
Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to falute 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.
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 with.
Ant My will is something forted 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
Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided ;
[thee : Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after No more of stay; to-morrow thou must
go. Come on, Panthion; you shall be employ'd. To haften on his expedition. (Exe. Ant. and Pant. Pro. Thus have I shun'd the fire, for fear of burn
ing; And drench'd me in the Sea, where I am drown'd: I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter, Left 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
Th'uncertain glory of an April day;
Pro. Why, this it is, my heart accords thereto : And yet a thousand times it answers, no. Exeunt.