_Pro._ I'll force thee yield to my desire. _Val._ Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, 60 Thou friend of an ill fashion! _Pro._ Valentine! _Val._ Thou common friend, that's without faith or love, For such is a friend now; treacherous man! Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say 65 I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 70 The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst, 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! _Pro._ My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 75 I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer As e'er I did commit. _Val._ Then I am paid; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. 80 By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased: And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. _Jul._ O me unhappy! [_Swoons._ _Pro._ Look to the boy. 85 _Val._ Why, boy! why, wag! how now! what's the matter? Look up; speak. _Jul._ O good sir, my master charged me to deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. 90 _Pro._ Where is that ring, boy? _Jul._ Here 'tis; this is it. _Pro._ How! let me see: Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. _Jul._ O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook: This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 95 _Pro._ But how camest thou by this ring? At my depart I gave this unto Julia. _Jul._ And Julia herself did give it me; And Julia herself hath brought it hither. _Pro._ How! Julia! 100 _Jul._ Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me 105 Such an immodest raiment, if shame live In a disguise of love: It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, Women to change their shapes than men their minds. _Pro._ Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man 110 But constant, he were perfect! That one error Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? 115