Commend thy Grievance to my holy Prayers; Val. And on a Love-book pray for my Success? 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, Pro. Over the Boots? Nay, give me not the Boots. 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; Pro. So, by your Circumftance, you call me Fool. And he that is fo yoked by a Fool, you. Methinks should not be chronicled for Wife. Val. And Writers fay, as the most forward Bud Even fo by Love the young and tender Wit Val. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let us take our Leave. At At Millan let me hear from thee by Letters 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. He leaves his Friends, to dignifie them more; Speed. Sir Protheus, fave you; faw you my Mafter? Pro. Indeed a Sheep doth very often stray, 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 Enter Julia and Lucetta. [Exeunt. Jul. But fay, Lucetta, now we are alone, That every Day with Parle encounter me, 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? Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio! Should cenfure thus on lovely Gentlemen. 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? Luc. Luc. Fire that's clofeft kept burns most of all. Jul. They do not love that do not fhew their Love. Luc. Perufe this Paper, Madam. Luc. Sir Valentine's Page; and fent, I think, from Protheus. 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. And ask Remiffion for my Folly past. What ho! Lucetta! [Exit. Luc. |