Southampton:
Come, then, throw off this melancholy—’tis but a humour.
Lacy:
And let the wit play like lightning against the clouds. Or, better still, exhort him, my lord, to seek a new love; ’tis love that lifts to melody and song, and gives the birds their music.
Southampton:
You are often with Herbert, are you not?
Shakespeare:
Yes.
Southampton:
Don’t build too much on him! You’ll be deceived.