The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Now that we’re alone, tell me, Lucetta, would you recommend that I fall in love?

Yes, madam, so you stumble into it on purpose.

Of all the attractive gentlemen that speak with me daily, which do you think would be best to love?

Please tell me their names again, and I’ll tell you my opinion about them as best I can.

What do you think of the attractive Sir Eglamour?

As a knight, he’s well spoken, elegant, and fine. But if I were you, I wouldn’t fall in love with him.

What do you think of Mercatio, who is rich?

I like his money a lot, but him only so-so.

What do you think of kind Proteus?

Good Lord, how foolish people are!

What’s that for? Why this outburst at his name?

Pardon me, dear madam, it’s inexcusable that I, the unworthy servant that I am, should criticize such lovely gentlemen.

Why don’t you think well of Proteus out of all the rest?

Fine then—of all the good men, I think Proteus is best.

What’s your reason?

I have no other reason than a woman’s intuition: I think he’s the best simply because I do.

And would you have me throw my love at him?

Yes, if you thought your love wouldn’t be thrown away.

But, of all the others, he has never proposed to me.

Yet, of all the others, I think he loves you the most.

The fact that he doesn’t say much to me shows he doesn’t love me much.

Fire that’s most enclosed burns most of all.

Those who don’t show their love don’t love at all.

Oh, those who tell others of their love love the least of all.

I wish I knew how he felt.

(giving her a letter) Read this paper, madam.

“To Julia.” Tell me, who’s it from?

The letter will say.

Tell me, who gave it to you?

Sir Valentine’s servant, but I think it was sent from Proteus. He would have given it to you himself, but I ran into him first and took it in your name. Please forgive me.

Well, you’re a fine go-between! Do you dare receive love letters, and to whisper and conspire against me because of my lack of experience? Trust me, it’s an important job, and you’re just the kind of person for it. There, take the letter. See that it’s returned, or else don’t let me see you again. (giving the letter back)

A request for your love deserves more in return than your hatred.

Will you get going?

Just think about it.

Then again, I wish I had read the letter. It would be embarrassing to call her back again and do the very thing I chided her for. How foolish she is, since she knows I’m a single girl but still wouldn’t make me read it! Out of modesty girls say “no” when they wish the giver would construe it as “yes.” How difficult this foolish thing called love is, like a cranky baby that will scratch its nurse and then immediately after show affection. How rudely I scolded Lucetta, when really I wanted her here. I’ve taught myself to appear angry even when my heart smiles with joy! My punishment is to call Lucetta back and ask forgiveness for my mistake. Hey, Lucetta!

What would you like, my lady?

Is it almost dinnertime?

I wish it were, so that you could chew on your food instead of your servant.

What is that that you picked up so carefully?

Nothing.

Why did you bend over, then?

To pick up the paper that I dropped.

And that paper is nothing?

Nothing that concerns me.

Then let it lie on the ground for the people it does concern.

Madam, it will not lie about what it concerns unless a liar reads it.

Some lover of yours has written a poem to you.

I’ll sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me the note to sing it in. Your ladyship can choose it.

I place as little value as possible in such trifles. You should sing it to the tune of “Light o’ Love.”

The poem is too heavy for so light a tune.

Too heavy! I guess the note is serious, then?

Yes, and it would be melodious, too, if you’d sing it.

And why won’t you sing it?

I cannot reach such high notes.

Let’s see your poem. What is it, you hussy?

Keep your mood in check and get over your anger. I don’t like this new tune you’re singing.

You don’t?

No, madame, it’s too sharp.

You, hussy, are too sassy.

No, now you’re too flat. You’re ruining the harmony with a melody that’s too harsh. Your song only needs a tenor.

The tenor is ruined with your unruly bass.

Indeed, I sing for Proteus.

This letter won’t trouble me from now on. Here’s a fuss over a love letter!

Go, get out of here, and leave the papers where they are. I know you’d try to pick them up just to anger me.

She pretends not to care, but she would be happy to be so angered by another love letter.

No, I wish I were so angry with this one!

Stupid hands, to tear up such lovely words! Destructive fingers, to feed on such sweet words and then rip up the letter they came from! I’ll apologize by kissing each piece of paper. Here, this one says “kind Julia.” It should say “unkind Julia”! Out of revenge for my own ingratitude I’ll throw the paper on the floor and hatefully trample my name in disdain.

And here’s one that says “love-wounded Proteus.” Poor wounded name! My breast will serve as your bed until your wounds are completely healed. I cleanse them with a healing kiss. But “Proteus” was written down two or three times. Be still, good wind, and don’t blow these pieces of paper away until I’ve found each word in the letter, except for the piece with my own name on it—may some whirlwind take that piece, hurl it onto a frightening cliff, and from there throw it into the raging sea! Look, his name is written twice in this line: “Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, to the sweet Julia.” I’ll tear that last part off. Then again, maybe I won’t, since he tied it so prettily to his own sorrowful names. I’ll fold them up, one on top of another. Now the names may kiss, hug, battle, or do what they will.

Madame, dinner is ready, and your father waits for you.

Well, let’s go then.

What, should these papers just lie on the ground revealing everything?

If you respect them, then it would be best to pick them up.

No, you yelled at me for dropping them in the first place. But we shouldn’t leave them here or they’ll catch a cold.

I see you have a strong desire for them.

Yes, madame, you can interpret my behavior as you like. But I see things, too, even though you think my eyes are closed.

Come on, come on. Will you please hurry up?