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So the remembrance of my former love

Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

[Is it] mine [eye], or Valentinus’ praise,

Her true perfection, or my false transgression,

That makes me reasonless, to reason thus?

She is fair; and so is Julia that I love

(That I did love, for now my love is thaw’d,

Which like a waxen image ’gainst a fire

Bears no impression of the thing it was).

Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,

And that I love him not as I was wont:

O, but I love his lady too too much,

And that’s the reason I love him so little.

How shall I dote on her with more advice,

That thus without advice begin to love her?

’Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,

And that hath dazzled my reason’s light;

But when I look on her perfections,

There is no reason but I shall be blind.

If I can check my erring love, I will;

If not, to compass her I’ll use my skill.

Exit.

¶

Enter Speed and Launce, [meeting].

Speed. Launce, by mine honesty, welcome to [Milan].

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang’d, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say “Welcome.”