Enter Proteus and Julia
Giving a ring
Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should. Julia, farewell!
What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.