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Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Val. ’Tis indeed, madam, we thank the giver.

Sil. Who is that, servant?

Val. Yourself, sweet lady, for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship’s looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father.

[Enter] Duke.

Duke.

Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.

Sir Valentine, your father is in good health:

What say you to a letter from your friends

Of much good news?

Val.

My lord, I will be thankful

To any happy messenger from thence.

Duke.

Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?

Val.

Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman

To be of worth and worthy estimation,

And not without desert so well reputed.