Julia, on arriving at Milan, had made inquiries for her faithless lover, and the landlord of the house where she lodged had brought her to this spot to see the man for whom she had been inquiring. Now, in her page’s costume, she was a witness of her lover’s inconstancy. Proteus had sworn a thousand vows of love to her, and yet here he was plainly playing court to another lady! Poor Julia! Sweet as the music was, it had little charm for her; she heard only the jarring discord of her lover’s false words. “Doth this Sir Proteus that we speak of often come to visit this gentlewoman?” she asked her host. “I tell you what Launce, his man, told me--he loves her beyond all measure,” replied the host. “Peace, stand aside, they are going,” said Julia, stepping further back into the shadow; and she heard Proteus say: “Sir Thurio, do not fear; I will plead your cause so well that you will own my cunning wit is matchless.” “Where do we meet?” asked Sir Thurio, as he prepared to depart with the musicians. “At St. Gregory’s Well.” “Farewell!” And Proteus was left alone as Silvia appeared on the balcony of her window above. “Madam, good even to your ladyship,” said Proteus. “I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who was that who spoke?” “One, lady, whom--if you knew his true heart--you would quickly learn to know by his voice.” “Sir Proteus, as I take it.” “Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.” “What is your will?” “That I may fulfil yours.” “You have your wish. My will is this: that you immediately go home to bed, you subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! Do you think I am so shallow, so witless, as to be won by your flattery--you, who have deceived so many with your vows! Return, return, and make amends to your own lady. As for me, I swear by this moon that I am so far from granting your request that I despise you for your wrongful suit, and could chide myself even for the time I spend in talking to you.” “I grant that I did love a lady,” said Proteus, “but she is dead.” “Supposing that she is, yet Valentine, your friend, is alive, to whom you yourself are witness that I am betrothed. Are you not ashamed to wrong him with this persistency?” “I hear likewise that Valentine is dead.” “Imagine, then, that I am also dead; for, be assured, my love is buried in his grave.” “Sweet lady, let me take it from the earth.” “Go to your own lady’s grave, and call her love thence, or, at least, bury your own in hers.” “Madam, if your heart is so pitiless, yet grant me your picture, for the sake of my love. For since you yourself are devoted elsewhere, I am but a shadow, and to your shadow will I give my love.” “I am very loath to be your idol, sir, but since it suits your falsehood to admire shadows, send to me in the morning, and I will send the picture. And so, good rest!” “As wretches have overnight who wait for execution in the morning,” said Proteus.