VALENTINE.
Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off,
For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
SILVIA.
Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
VALENTINE.
No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
Please you command, a thousand times as much.
And yet—
SILVIA.
A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I will not name it. And yet I care not.
And yet take this again.
[Offers him the letter.]
And yet I thank you,
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
SPEED.
[Aside.] And yet you will; and yet another “yet”.
VALENTINE.
What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?
SILVIA.
Yes, yes, the lines are very quaintly writ,
But, since unwillingly, take them again.
Nay, take them.
[Offers the letter again.]