LANCE. Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy and cannot be ta’en from her. SPEED. _Item, She hath no teeth._ LANCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. SPEED. _Item, She is curst._ LANCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. SPEED. _Item, She will often praise her liquor._ LANCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will, for good things should be praised. SPEED. _Item, She is too liberal._ LANCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll keep shut. Now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. SPEED. _Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults._ LANCE. Stop there; I’ll have her. She was mine and not mine twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. SPEED. _Item, She hath more hair than wit_— LANCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I’ll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What’s next? SPEED. _And more faults than hairs._ LANCE. That’s monstrous! O, that that were out! SPEED. _And more wealth than faults._ LANCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I’ll have her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible— SPEED. What then? LANCE. Why, then will I tell thee that thy master stays for thee at the North Gate. SPEED. For me? LANCE. For thee? Ay, who art thou? He hath stayed for a better man than thee. SPEED. And must I go to him? LANCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve the turn. SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! [_Exit._] LANCE. Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction. [_Exit._] SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke’s palace Enter Duke and Thurio. DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Now Valentine is banished from her sight. THURIO. Since his exile she hath despised me most, Forsworn my company and railed at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an hour’s heat Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. Enter Proteus. How now, Sir Proteus? Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone? PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. DUKE. So I believe, but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, For thou hast shown some sign of good desert, Makes me the better to confer with thee. PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace Let me not live to look upon your Grace.