SONG
PROTEUS.
Who is Silvia? What is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling.
To her let us garlands bring.
HOST.
How now, are you sadder than you were before?
How do you, man? The music likes you not.
JULIA.
You mistake; the musician likes me not.
HOST.
Why, my pretty youth?
JULIA.
He plays false, father.
HOST.
How, out of tune on the strings?
JULIA.
Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings.