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Wear cut thy youth with shapeless idleness.
Pro. Wilt thou be gone? sweet Valentine, adieu s
success? Pro. Upon fome book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Val. That's on some shallow 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.
Va!. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
Pro. Over the boots: nay, give me not the boots. (2)
Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans: Coy looks, with heart-fore fighs; one fading moment's
Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val. Love is your master; for he masters you. And he that is so yoaked by a fool,
(2) nay, give me not the boots.] A proverbial expression, tho' now disus’d, fignifying, don't make a laughing stock of me; don't play upon me.
The French have a phrase, Bailler foin en corne; which Corgrave thus interprets, To give one the basis; to sell him a bargain.
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine:
Val. Sweet Protheus, no: now let us take our leave. At 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.. Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! Val. As much to you at home; and so farewell! (Exit..
Pro. 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 haft metamorphos'd me; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good counsel, fet the world at nought; Made wit with mufing weak; heart fick with thought,
Enter Speed: Speed. Sir Protheus, save you ; saw you my master? Pro. But now he parted hence, t'embark for Milan.
Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, And I have play'd the sheep in losing him,
Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away,
Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep. Pro. I.do.
Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
Pro. A filly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
Speed. The shepherd feeks the sheep, and not the fheep the Thepherd; but I feek my mafter, and my mafter seekis not me; therefore I am no sheep.
Pro. The sheep for fodder follows the shepherd, the fhepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy mafter, thy master for wages follows not thee; therefore thou art a sheep.
Speed. Such another proof will make me cry Baa.
Speed. Ay, Sir, I, a loft mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd mutton (3); and the; a lac'd mutton, gave me, a loft muttons, nothing for my labour.
Pro. Here's toofmall'a pasture for such store of muttons.
Speed. If the ground be over-charged, you were best Aick her,
(3) 1, a loft mutton, gave your letter to ber, a lac'd mutton;] Launce talls himself a loft mutton, because he had lost his master, and because Prosbeus had been proving him a fheep. But why does he call the Lady a lac'd mutton? Your notable werchers are to this day call'd Muitonmongers : and consequently the object of their passion must, by the Metaphor, be the mutton. And Cosgrave, in his English-French Dictionary, explains lac'd mutton, une garfe, putain, fille de joy. And Mr. Motteaux has rendered this passage of Rabelais, in the Prologue of his fourth book, cailles coif bees, mignonnement cbantans, in this manner, coated quails and lac'd mutton waggishly finging, So that lac'd mutton has been a sort of ftandard phrase for girls of pleafure. (I shall explain cailles coif bees in its proper place, upon a passage of Troilus and Creffida.). That lac'd mation was a term in vogue before our Author appear'd in writing, I find from an old play, printed in black letter in the year 1578, call d Promos and Cajandra: in wbich courtezan's servant thus speaks to her ;
Prying abroad for playefellows, and such,
Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray (4); 'twere bet pound you.
Speed. Nay, Sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.
Pro. 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. Pro. But what said the ; did the nod: (Speed nods. Speed. I. Bra. Nod-I? why, that's noddy.
Speed. You mistook, Sir; I said, she did nod; And you
alk me, if she did nod; and I said, I. Pró. And that set together, is noddy.
Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it togethee, take it for your pains.
Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter.. Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear with your 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 said the?
Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once deliver'd.
Pro. Well, Sir, here is for your pains, what said the
Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her
Pro. What, said she nothing?
(4) Nay, in obut you are aftray.). For the reason Protbeus gives, Dr. Tbirlby advises that we should read, a firay; i. co a Araysheepji which continues Pracbeus's banter upon Speed,
Jul. B Woulier in the then comment me to fall in love ?
To testify your bounty,I thank you, you have teitern'd me: In requital whereof, henceforth carry your letter yourfelf: and so, Sir, I'll commend you to my master.
Pro. Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being defin’d to a drier death on shore. I mult
send some better messenger: I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines, Receiving them from such a worthless poft.
[Exeunt serverally, SCENE changes to Julia's Chamber.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Lucetta, now we are alone,
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen,
Luc. Please you repeat their names; I'll shew my mind, According to my shallow simple kill.
Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
Luc. As of a knight well spoken, neat and fine;
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
Luc. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame,
Jul. Why not on Protheus, as of all the rel?
Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason;
him? Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not caft away.