PROTEUS.
Who wouldst thou strike?
LANCE.
Nothing.
PROTEUS.
Villain, forbear.
LANCE.
Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you—
PROTEUS.
Sirrah, I say, forbear.—Friend Valentine, a word.
VALENTINE.
My ears are stopped and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possessed them.
PROTEUS.
Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
VALENTINE.
Is Silvia dead?
PROTEUS.
No, Valentine.
VALENTINE.
No Valentine indeed for sacred Silvia.
Hath she forsworn me?