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 fome Book I love I'll pray for thee.
Val. That's on fome thallow Story of deep Love,
How young Leander crofs'd the Hellefpont.

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 fwom the Hellefpont.

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-fore Sighs; one fading Moment's Mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious Nights,

If haply won, perhaps an hapless Gain:

If loft, why then a grievous Labour won;
However, but a Folly bought with Wit,
Or elle a Wit by Folly vanquished.

Pro. So, by your Circumftance, you call me Fool.
Val. So, by your Circumftance, I fear you'll prove.
Pro. Tis Love you cávil at; I am not Love.
Val. Love is your Mafter; for he mafters

And he that is fo yoked by a Fool,

you.

Methinks should not be chronicled for Wife.
Pro. Yet Writers fay, as in the sweetest Bud
The eating Canker dwells; fo eating Love
Inhabits in the finest Wits of all.

Val. And Writers fay, as the most forward Bud
Is eaten by the Canker, e'er it blow;

Even fo by Love the young and tender Wit
Is turn'd to Folly, blafting in the Bud,
Lofing his Verdure even in the Prime,
And all the fair Effects of future Hopes.
But wherefore wafte I Time to counfel thee,
That art a Votary to fond Defire?
Once more adieu: My Father at the Road
Expects my coming, there to fee me fhipp'd.
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Val. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let us take our Leave.

At

At Millan let me hear from thee by Letters
Of thy Success in Love; and what News elfe
Betideth here in Abfence of thy Friend:

And I likewife will vifit thee with mine.

Pro. All Happiness bechance to thee in Millan.

Val. As much to you at home; and fo farewel. [Exit.
Pro. He after Honours hunts, I after Love;

He leaves his Friends, to dignifie them more;
I love my felf, my Friends, and all for Love.
Thou Julia, thou haft metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my Studies, lofe my Time,
War with good Counfel, fet the World at nought;
Made Wit, with Mufing, weak; Heart fick, with Thought.
Enter Speed.

Speed. Sir Protheus, fave you; faw you my Mafter?
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 lofing him.

Pro. Indeed a Sheep doth very often stray,
And if the Shepherd be a while away.

Speed. You conclude that my Mafter is a Shepherd then, and I a Sheep?

Pro. I do.

Speed. Why then my Horns are his Horns, whether I wake or fleep.

Pro. A filly Anfwer, and fitting well a Sheep.

Speed. This proves me ftill a Sheep.

Pro. True; and thy Mafter a Shepherd.

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a Circumftance.

Pro. It fhall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

Speed. The Shepherd feeks the Sheep, and not the Sheep the Shepherd; but I feek my Mafter, and my Mafter feeks 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 followeft thy Mafter, thy Mafter for Wages follows not thee; therefore thou art a Sheep.

Speed. Such another Proof will make me cry Baâ.

Pro. But doft thou hear? gaveft thou my Letter to Julia? Speed. Ay, Sir; I, a loft-Mutton, gave your Letter to her, a lac'd-Mutton; and fhe, a lac'd-Mutton, gave me, a loft-Mutton, nothing for my Labour.

F 2

Pro.

Pro. Here's too fmall a Pafture for fuch ftore of Mut

tons.

Speed. If the Ground be over-charg'd, you were beft ftick her.

Pro. Nay, in that you are aftray; 'twere beft pound · you.

Speed. Nay, Sir, less than a Pound fhall ferve 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 faid fhe?

Speed. Ay.

Pro. Nod-I; why, that's Noddy.

Speed. You miftook, Sir, I said she did nod: And you ask me if fhe did nod, and I faid, Ay. Pro. And that fet together, is Noddy.

Speed. Now you have taken the Pains to fet it together, take it for your Pains.

Pro. No, no, you fhall have it for bearing the Letter. Speed. Well, I percieve 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. Befhrew me, but you have a quick Wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your flow Purse. Pro. Come, come, open the Matter in brief; what faid fhe?

Speed. Open your Purfe, that the Mony and the Matter may be both deliver'd.

Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your Pains; what faid fhe? Speed. Truly, Sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why? could'st thou percieve so much from her? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; No, not fo much as a Ducket for delivering your Letter, And being fo hard to me that brought your Mind, I fear fhe'll prove as hard to you in telling her Mind. Give her no Token but Stones; for fhe's as hard as Steel. Pro. What faid she, nothing?

Speed. No, not fo much as take this for thy Pains: To teftifie your Bounty, I thank you, you have teftern'd me:

La

In requital whereof, henceforth carry your Letter your
felf: And fo, Sir, I'll commend you to my Mafter.
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to fave your Ship from wrack,
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
Being deftin'd to a drier Death on Shore.
I must go fend fome better Meffenger:
fear my Julia would not deign my Lines,
Receiving them from fuch a worthless Poft.

Enter Julia and Lucetta.

[Exeunt.

Jul. But fay, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou then counfel me to fall in Love?
Luc. Ay, Madam, fo you ftumble not unheedfully.
Jul. Of all the fair Refort of Gentlemen,

That every Day with Parle encounter me,
In thy Opinion which is worthiest Love?

Luc. Please you repeat their Names, I'll fhew my Mind, According to my fhallow fimple Skill.

Jul. What think'ft thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
Luc. As of a Knight well-fpoken, neat and fine;
But were I you, he never fhould be mine.

Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio!
Luc. Well of his Wealth; but of himself fo, fo.
Jul. What think'ft thou of the gentle Protheus?
Luc. Lord, Lord! to fee what Folly reigns in us.
Jul. How now? what means this Paffion at his Name?
Luc. Pardon, dear Madam; 'tis a paffing Shame,
That I, unworthy Body as I am,

Should cenfure thus on lovely Gentlemen.
Jul. Why not on Protheus, as of all the reft?
Luc. Then thus; of many good, I think him beft.
Jul. Your Reason?

Luc. I have no other but a Woman's Reafon;

I think him fo, because I think him fo.

Jul. And wouldst thou have me caft my Love on him?
Lus. Ay, if you thought your Love not caft away.
Jul. Why he, of all the reft, hath never mov'd me.
Luc. Yet he, of all the reft, I think beft loves ye.
Jul. His little fpeaking fhews his Love but small.
F 3

Luc.

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

Jul. They do not love that do not fhew their Love.
Luc Oh, they love least that let Men know their Love.
Jul. I would I knew his Mind.

Luc. Perufe this Paper, Madam.
Jul. To Julia; fay, from whom?
Luc. That the Contents will fhew.
Jul. Say, fay; who gave it thee?

Luc. Sir Valentine's Page; and fent, 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 Modefty, a goodly Broker;
Dare you prefume to harbour wanton Lines?
To whisper and confpire againft my Youth?
Now truft me, 'tis an Office of great Worth,
And you an Officer fit for the Place.
There; take the Paper; fee it be return'd,
Or else return no more into my Sight.

Luc. To' plead for Love deferves more Fee than Hate. Jul. Will ye be gone?

Luc. That you may ruminate.

Jul. And yet I would I had o'er-look'd the Letter.

It were a fhame to call her back again,

And pray her to a Fault, for which I chid her.
What Fool is fhe that knows I am a Maid,
And would not force the Letter to my View?
Since Maids, in Modefty, fay No to that
Which they would have the Profferer conftrue, Ay.
Fie, fie; how way-ward is this foolish Love,
That, like a tefty Babe, will fcratch the Nurse,
And prefently, all humbled, kifs 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 fmile?
My Penance is, to call Lucetta back,

And ask Remiffion for my Folly past.

What ho! Lucetta!

[Exit.

Luc.