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Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver’d

Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.

The time now serves not to expostulate:

Come, I’ll convey thee through the city-gate;

And ere I part with thee, confer at large

Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.

As thou lov’st Silvia (though not for thyself)

Regard thy danger, and along with me.

Val.

I pray thee, Launce, and if thou seest my boy,

Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate.

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

Val. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!

[Exeunt Valentine and Proteus.]

Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave; but that’s all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love, but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who ’tis I love; and yet ’tis a woman; but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet ’tis a milkmaid; yet ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. [Pulling out a paper.] Here is the cate-log of her condition. “Inprimis, She can fetch and carry.” Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry, therefore is she better than a jade. “Item, She can milk.” Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.