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Launce. Sir—call me what thou dar’st.

Pan. Wilt thou go?

Launce. Well, I will go.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, Speed.

Sil. Servant!

Val. Mistress?

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Val. Ay, boy, it’s for love.

Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress then.

Speed. ’Twere good you knock’d him.

[Exit.]

Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Thu. Seem you that you are not?

Val. Happ’ly I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I that I am not?

Val. Wise.

Thu. What instance of the contrary?

Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly?

Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well then I’ll double your folly.

Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change color?

Val. Give him leave, madam, he is a kind of chameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air.

Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too—for this time.

Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.