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Luc.

A round hose, madam, now’s not worth a pin,

Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

Jul.

Lucetta, as thou lov’st me, let me have

What thou think’st meet, and is most mannerly.

But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me

For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me it will make me scandaliz’d.

Luc.

If you think so, then stay at home and go not.

Jul.

Nay, that I will not.

Luc.

Then never dream on infamy, but go.

If Proteus like your journey when you come,

No matter who’s displeas’d when you are gone:

I fear me he will scarce be pleas’d withal.

Jul.

That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:

A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,

And instances of infinite of love,

Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc.

All these are servants to deceitful men.

Jul.

Base men, that use them to so base effect!

But truer stars did govern Proteus’ birth:

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,

His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,

His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,