3 F4. _hencefore_ F2.
_letters_] F1. _letter_ F2 F3 F4.

SCENE II. _The same. Garden of JULIA'S house._

_Enter JULIA and LUCETTA._

_Jul._ But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love?

_Luc._ Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.

_Jul._ Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with parle encounter me, 5
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

_Luc._ Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.

_Jul._ What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

_Luc._ As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 10
But, were I you, he never should be mine.

_Jul._ What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

_Luc._ Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.

_Jul._ What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

_Luc._ Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us! 15

_Jul._ How now! what means this passion at his name?

_Luc._ Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

_Jul._ Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 20

_Luc._ Then thus,--of many good I think him best.

_Jul._ Your reason?

_Luc._ I have no other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.

_Jul._ And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? 25

_Luc._ Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

_Jul._ Why, he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

_Luc._ Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

_Jul._ His little speaking shows his love but small.

_Luc._ Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 30

_Jul._ They do not love that do not show their love.

_Luc._ O, they love least that let men know their love.

_Jul._ I would I knew his mind.

_Luc._ Peruse this paper, madam.

_Jul._ 'To Julia.'--Say, from whom? 35

_Luc._ That the contents will show.

_Jul._ Say, say, who gave it thee?

_Luc._ Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it: pardon the fault, I pray. 40

_Jul._ Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
And you an officer fit for the place.