JULIA.
What think’st thou of the rich Mercatio?
LUCETTA.
Well of his wealth; but of himself, so-so.
JULIA.
What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus?
LUCETTA.
Lord, Lord, to see what folly reigns in us!
JULIA.
How now? What means this passion at his name?
LUCETTA.
Pardon, dear madam, ’tis a passing shame
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
JULIA.
Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
LUCETTA.
Then thus: of many good I think him best.
JULIA.
Your reason?
LUCETTA.
I have no other but a woman’s reason:
I think him so because I think him so.