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Speed. “And more faults than hairs”—

Launce. That’s monstrous. O that that were out!

Speed. “And more wealth than faults.”

Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I’ll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible—

Speed. What then?

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee—that thy master stays for thee at the North-gate.

Speed. For me?

Launce. For thee? ay, who art thou? He hath stay’d for a better man than thee.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay’d so long that going will scarce serve the turn.

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love-letters!

[Exit.]

Launce. Now will he be swing’d for reading my letter—an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction.

Exit.

¶

Enter Duke, Thurio.

Duke.

Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you

Now Valentine is banish’d from her sight.

Thu.

Since his exile she hath despis’d me most,

Forsworn my company, and rail’d at me,