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Val.

Call her divine.

Pro.

I will not flatter her.

Val.

O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

Pro.

When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,

And I must minister the like to you.

Val.

Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,

Yet let her be a principality,

Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

Pro.

Except my mistress.

Val.

Sweet, except not any,

Except thou wilt except against my love.

Pro.

Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

Val.

And I will help thee to prefer her too:

She shall be dignified with this high honor—

To bear my lady’s train, lest the base earth

Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,

And of so great a favor growing proud,

Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow’r,

And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro.

Why, Valentine, what braggadism is this?

Val.

Pardon me, Proteus, all I can is nothing

To her, whose worth [makes] other worthies nothing:

She is alone.

Pro.

Then let her alone.

Val.

Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own,