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

tons.

Speed. If the Ground be over-charg'd, you were best stick

her.

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

Speed. Nay, Sir, less than a Pound shall serve me for carrying your Letter.

Pro. You miftake; 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 faid she did nod: And you ask me if she 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 shall have it for bearing the Letter. Speed. Well, I perceive 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 Purfe. 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'ft thou perceive fo 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 fhe, nothing?

Speed. No, not fo much as take this for thy Pains:

To teftifie your Bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me:

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:
I fear my Julia would not deign my Lines,
Receiving them from fuch a worthlefs Poft.

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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 worthieft Love?

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

Jul. What think'st 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 best.
Jul. Your Reafon?

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

I think him fo, because I think him fo.

Jul. And wouldst thou have me caft my Love on him?
Luc. Ay, if you thought your Love not caft away.
Jul. Why he, of all the reft, hath never mov'd me.
Luc. Yethe, 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 leaft 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 conspire against 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 elfe 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 presently, 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 smile?
My Penance is, to call Lucetta back,

And ask Remiffion for my Folly past.

What ho! Lucetta!

Re-enter Lucetta.

Luc. What would your Ladyship?
Jul. Is't near Dinner-time?

[Exit.

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Luc. I would it were,

That you might kill your Stomach on your Meat,

And not upon your Maid.

Jul. What is't that you

Took up fo gingerly?

Luc. Nothing.

Jul. Why didft thou ftoop then?

Luc. To take a Paper up that I let fall.

Jul. And is that Paper nothing?

Luc. Nothing concerning me.

Jul. Then let it lye for thofe that it concerns. Luc. Madam, it will not lye where it concerns, Unless it have a falfe Interpreter.

Jul. Some Love of yours hath writ to you in Rime.
Luc. That I might fing it, Madam, to a Tune;
Give a Note; your Ladyship can set.

Jul. As little by fuch Toys as may be poffible;
Beft fing it to the Tune of Light O Love.
Luc. It is too heavy for fo light a Tune.

Jul. Heavy? belike it hath fome Burthen then.
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you fing it.
Ful. And why not you?

Luc. I cannot reach so high.

Jul. Let's fee your Song:

How now Minion?

Luc. Keep Tune there ftill, fo you will fing it out: And yet methinks I do not like this Tune.

Jul. You do not?

Luc. No, Madam, 'tis too sharp.

Jul. You, Minion, are too fawcy.

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat,

And mar the Concord with too harsh a Defcant:
There wanteth but a Mean to fill your Song.

Jul. The Mean is drown'd with your unruly Bafe.
Luc. Indeed I bid the base for Protheus.

Jul. This Babble fhall not henceforth trouble me.

Here is a Coil with Proteftation!

Go, get you gone; and let the Papers lye:

You would be fingring them to anger me.

Luc. She makes it ftrange, but the would be beft pleas'd To be fo anger'd with another Letter.

F 4

[Exit.

Jul.

Jul. Nay, would I were fo anger'd with the fame!
Oh hateful Hands, to tear fuch loving Words;
Injurious Wafps, to feed on fuch sweet Honey,
And kill the Bees that yield it with your Stings!
I'll kiss each several Paper for amends:

Look, here is writ, kind Julia; unkind Julia!
As in revenge of thy Ingratitude,

I throw thy Name against the bruifing Stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy Difdain.
And here is writ, Love-wounded Protheus.
Poor wounded Name; my Bofom, as a Bed,
Shall lodge thee 'till thy Wound be throughly heal'd;
And thus I fearch it with a foveraign Kifs.
But twice or thrice was Protheus written down:
Be calm, good Wind, blow not a Word away,
'Till I have found each Letter in the Letter,
Except mine own Name: That fome Whirl-wind bear.
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging Rock,

And throw it thence into the raging Sea.
Lo, here in one Line is his Name twice writ:
Poor forlorn Protheus, paffionate Protheus:
To the Sweet Julia: That I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, fith fo prettily
He couples it to his complaining Names:
Thus will I fold them one upon another:

Now kifs, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Enter Lucetta.

Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your Father ftays.
Jul. Well, let us go.

Luc. What, fhall thefe Papers lye, like tell-tales here? Jul. If you refpect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they shall not lye for catching cold. Jul. I fee you have a Month's mind to them. Luc. Ay, Madam, you may fay what Sights you fee: I fee things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go?

[Exeunt.

SCENE

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