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Gentlewoman, good day; I pray you be my mean

To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.

Sil.

What would you with her, if that I be she?

Jul.

If you be she, I do entreat your patience

To hear me speak the message I am sent on.

Sil.

From whom?

Jul.

From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.

Sil.

O, he sends you for a picture?

Jul.

Ay, madam.

Sil.

Ursula, bring my picture there.

Go give your master this. Tell him from me,

One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,

Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Jul.

Madam, please you peruse this letter—

Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis’d

Deliver’d you a paper that I should not:

This is the letter to your ladyship.

Sil.

I pray thee let me look on that again.

Jul.

It may not be; good madam, pardon me.

Sil.

There, hold!

I will not look upon your master’s lines;

I know they are stuff’d with protestations,

And full of new-found oaths, which he will break

As easily as I do tear his paper.

Jul.

Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.