SILVIA.
And so suppose am I, for in his grave,
Assure thyself, my love is buried.
PROTEUS.
Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
SILVIA.
Go to thy lady’s grave and call hers thence,
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.
JULIA.
[Aside.] He heard not that.
PROTEUS.
Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
To that I’ll speak, to that I’ll sigh and weep;
For since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;
And to your shadow will I make true love.
JULIA.
[Aside.] If ’twere a substance you would sure deceive it
And make it but a shadow, as I am.
SILVIA.
I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
But since your falsehood shall become you well
To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it.
And so, good rest.
[Exit.]
PROTEUS.
As wretches have o’ernight
That wait for execution in the morn.
[Exit.]