own ingratitude in destroying such sweet and loving words, as she
called them, she wrote a much kinder letter to Proteus than she had
ever done before.

Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving this favourable answer to
his letter; and while he was reading it, he exclaimed: 'Sweet love,
sweet lines, sweet life!' In the midst of his raptures he was interrupted
by his father. 'How now!' said the old gentleman; 'what letter are you
reading there?'

'My lord,' replied Proteus, 'it is a letter from my friend Valentine, at
Milan.'

'Lend me the letter,' said his father: 'let me see what news.'

'There are no news, my lord,' said Proteus, greatly alarmed, 'but that he
writes how well beloved he is of the duke of Milan, who daily graces
him with favours; and how he wishes me with him, the partner of his
fortune.'

'And how stand you affected to his wish?' asked the father.

'As one relying on your lordship's will, and not depending on his
friendly wish,' said Proteus.

Now it had happened that Proteus' father had just been talking with a
friend on this very subject: his friend had said, he wondered his
lordship suffered his son to spend his youth at home, while most men
were sending their sons to seek preferment abroad; 'some,' said he, 'to
the wars, to try their fortunes there, and some to discover islands far