? Nothing concerning me. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns Unless it have a false interpeter. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me a note: your ladyship can set. As little by such toys as may be possible. Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' love.' It is too heavy for so light a tune. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then? Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it. And why not you? I cannot reach so high. Let's see your song. How now, minion! Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet methinks I do not like this tune. You do not? No, madam; it is too sharp. You, minion, are too saucy. Nay, now you are too flat And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation! Go get you gone, and let the papers lie: You would be fingering them, to anger me. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleased To be so anger'd with another letter. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia! As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' Poor wounded name! my bosom as a bed Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down. Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away Till I have found each letter in the letter, Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock And throw it thence into the raging sea! Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away. And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one on