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Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest

       Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel:

       Wish me partaker in thy happiness

       When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,

       If ever danger do environ thee,

       Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

       For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.

       VALENTINE.

       And on a love-book pray for my success?

       PROTEUS.

       Upon some book I love I’ll pray for thee.

       VALENTINE.

       That’s on some shallow story of deep love,

       How young Leander cross’d the Hellespont.

       PROTEUS.

       That’s a deep story of a deeper love;

       For he was more than over shoes in love.

       VALENTINE.

       ‘Tis true; for you are over boots in love,

       And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

       PROTEUS.

       Over the boots? Nay, give me not the boots.

       VALENTINE.

       No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

       PROTEUS.

       What?

       VALENTINE.

       To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;

       Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment’s mirth

       With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:

       If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;

       If lost, why then a grievous labour won:

       However, but a folly bought with wit,

       Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

       PROTEUS.

       So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

       VALENTINE.

       So, by your circumstance, I fear you’ll prove.

       PROTEUS.

       ‘Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

       VALENTINE.

       Love is your master, for he masters you;

       And he that is so yoked by a fool,

       Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

       PROTEUS.

       Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud

       The eating canker dwells, so eating love

       Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

       VALENTINE.

       And writers say, as the most forward bud

       Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

       Even so by love the young and tender wit

       Is turned to folly; blasting in the bud,

       Losing his verdure even in the prime,

       And all the fair effects of future hopes.

       But wherefore waste I time to counsel the

       That art a votary to fond desire?

       Once more adieu! my father at the road

       Expects my coming, there to see me shipp’d.

       PROTEUS.

       And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

       VALENTINE.

       Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.

       To Milan let me hear from thee by letters

       Of thy success in love, and what news else

       Betideth here in absence of thy friend;

       And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

       PROTEUS.

       All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

       VALENTINE.

       As much to you at home! and so farewell!

       [Exit.]

       PROTEUS.

       He after honour hunts, I after love;

       He leaves his friends to dignify them more:

       I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.

       Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos’d me;—

       Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,

       War with good counsel, set the world at nought;

       Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

       [Enter SPEED.]

       SPEED.

       Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

       PROTEUS.

       But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.

       SPEED.

       Twenty to one then he is shipp’d already,

       And I have play’d the sheep in losing him.

       PROTEUS.

       Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,

       An if the shepherd be a while away.

       SPEED.

       You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and

       I a sheep?

       PROTEUS.

       I do.

       SPEED.

       Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

       PROTEUS.

       A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

       SPEED.

       This proves me still a sheep.

       PROTEUS.

       True; and thy master a shepherd.

       SPEED.

       Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

       PROTEUS.

       It shall go hard but I’ll prove it by another.

       SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; therefore, I am no sheep.

       PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a sheep.

       SPEED.

       Such another proof will make me cry ‘baa.’

       PROTEUS.

       But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

       SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

       PROTEUS.

       Here’s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

       SPEED.

       If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

       PROTEUS.

       Nay, in that you are astray: ‘twere best pound you.

       SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.

       PROTEUS.

       You mistake; I mean the pound,—a pinfold.

       SPEED.

       From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,

       ‘Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.

       PROTEUS.

       But what said

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