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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 modesty, a goodly broker!

Dare you presume to harbor 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.

There! take the paper; see it be return’d,

Or else return no more into my sight.

Luc.

To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

Jul.

Will ye be gone?

Luc.

That you may ruminate.

Exit.

Jul.

And yet I would I had o’erlook’d the letter;

It were a shame to call her back again,

And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.

What ’fool is she, that knows I am a maid,

And would not force the letter to my view!

Since maids, in modesty, say “no” to that

Which they would have the profferer construe ‘ay.’

Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,

That (like a testy babe) will scratch the nurse

And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!

How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,