PSEC. He would not please his tailor and his barber; For they got more for your sake by their lord Than they have got this twenty years before. LEU. Ah, Psectas, Psectas! can my father think That I can love Count Virro? one so old-- That were enough to make a match unfit-- But one so base; a man that never lov'd For anything call'd good, but dross and pelf. One that would never, had my brother liv'd, Have mov'd this suit: no, I can never love him: But canst thou keep a secret firmly, Psectas? PSEC. Doubt me not, madam. LEU. Well, I'll tell thee then. I love--alas! I dare not say I love him-- But there's a young and noble gentleman, Lord Euphues' son, my father's enemy, A man whom Nature's prodigality Stretch'd even to envy in the making up. Once from a window my pleas'd eye beheld This youthful gallant as he rode the street On a curvetting courser who, it seem'd Knew his fair load, and with a proud disdain Check'd the base earth: my father being by, I ask'd his name; he told me Philocles, The son and heir of his great enemy. Judge, Psectas, then, how my divided breast Suffer'd between two meeting contraries, Hatred and love: but Love's a deity, And must prevail 'gainst mortals, whose command Not Jove himself could ever yet withstand. CLER. What, is the letter done already? I see these lovers have nimble inventions; but how will you send it? PHIL. What a question's that! Seest thou this stone? CLER. Ah! then I see your drift; this stone must guide Your fleeting letter in the air, and carry it To that fair mark you aim. PHIL. Hard by her. CLER. I think you would not hit her with such stones as this; lady, look to yourself, now it comes to proof. PHIL. But prythee, tell me, what dost thou think this letter may do? CLER. Well, I hope. 'Tis ten to one this lady oft hath seen you, You never liv'd obscure in Syracuse, Nor walk'd the streets unknown, and who can tell What place you bear in her affections, Lov'd or mislik'd? If bad, this letter sent Will make her show her scorn: if otherwise, Fear not a woman's wit: she'll find a time To answer your kind letter, and express What you desire she should; then send it boldly, You have a fair mark there. PHIL. Cupid, guide my arm! O, be as just, blind god, as thou art great! And with that powerful hand, that golden shaft This eye was[424] wounded, wound yon tender breast! There is no salve but that, no cure for me. [_Throws._ CLER. See, what a wonder it strikes 'em in, how it should come. PHIL. She'll wonder more to see what man it comes from. CLER. I like her well, she is not afraid to open it. She starts; stay, mark her action when she has read the letter. _She reads._