excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
    Now will he interpret to her.
  VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.
  SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev'n!
    Here's a million of manners.
  SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
  SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it
him.
  VALENTINE. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
    Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
    Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
    But for my duty to your ladyship.
  SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done.
  VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
    For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
    I writ at random, very doubtfully.
  SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
  VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
    Please you command, a thousand times as much;
    And yet-
  SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
    And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.
    And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-
    Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
  SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another' yet.'
  VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?
  SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
    But, since unwillingly, take them again.
    Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]
  VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.
  SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;
    But I will none of them; they are for you:
    I would have had them writ more movingly.
  VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
  SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over;
    And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
  VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?
  SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.
    And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA
  SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
    As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
    My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
    He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
    O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,
    That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the
letter?
  VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?
  SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.
  VALENTINE. To do what?
  SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?
  VALENTINE. To whom?
  SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.
  VALENTINE. What figure?
  SPEED. By a letter, I should say.
  VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.
  SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?
    Why, do you not perceive the jest?
  VALENTINE. No, believe me.
  SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her
    earnest?
  VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.
  SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.
  VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
  SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end.
  VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.
  SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well.
    'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
    Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
    Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,
    Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her
lover.'
    All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse
you,
    sir? 'Tis dinner time.
  VALENTINE. I have din'd.
  SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed
on
    the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would
    fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be
moved.
                                                          Exeunt

SCENE 2. Verona. JULIA'S house

Enter PROTEUS and JULIA

  PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.
  JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.
  PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.
  JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
    Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
                                                 [Giving a ring]
  PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this.
  JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
  PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
    And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
    Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
    The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
    Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
    My father stays my coming; answer not;
    The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:
    That tide will stay me longer than I should.
    Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA
    What, gone without a word?
    Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
    For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.

Enter PANTHINO

  PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.
  PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.
    Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt

SCENE 3. Verona. A street

Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog

  LAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all
the
    kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my
    proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir
    Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the
    sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father
    wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing
her
    hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not
this
    cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble
    stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would
have
    wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no
eyes,
    look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show
you
    the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe
is
    my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot
be so
    neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole.
This
    shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A
    vengeance on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my
sister,
    for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a
wand;
    this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is
himself,
    and I am the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,
so.
    Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should
not
    the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my
father;
    well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could
    speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her- why there
'tis;
    here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my