JULIA What think’st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
LUCETTA As of a knight well spoken, neat, and fine–
But were I you, he never should be mine.
JULIA What think’st thou of the rich Mercatio?
LUCETTA Well of his wealth – but of himself, so-so.
JULIA What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus?
LUCETTA Lord, lord – to see what folly reigns in us!
JULIA How now? What means this passion at his name?
LUCETTA Pardon, dear madam, ’tis a passing shame,
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. (1.2.9-19)
Julia starts with what seems to be a comedy candidate: what think’st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? He has the name of a romance hero, with love in his very name and accentuated by the Sir, but is also, apparently, ridiculous—a fop, a dandy, a fool? Lucetta regards him as a knight well spoken, neat, and fine—all very well, so far as appearances go (and perhaps rather fussy?)—but were I you, he never should be mine. All style, no substance. Another candidate, then: what think’st thou of the rich Mercatio? His name suggests a merchant, appropriately; Lucetta thinks well of his wealth—plenty of money, that’s undeniable—but of himself, so-so. You’d have to pay her, and it still wouldn’t be enough, apparently.
And now, as Lucetta is totally expecting, and as the comic rhythm of the play sets up, the third candidate is the crucial one. What think’st thou of the gentle Proteus? Julia is judging her moment carefully, being artless, watching Lucetta closely. Gentle is already loading it; he’s well-to-do, courteous, attractive—but Lucetta’s not going to play along so easily. Lord, lord—to see what folly reigns in us! How could you be so foolish, show such poor judgment? This, of course, discombobulates Julia utterly: how now? what? what are you going on about? What means this passion at his name? why such a violent reaction? (Does Lucetta disapprove, does she know something about Proteus that Julia doesn’t?) No, it’s just a wind-up. Pardon, dear madam, ’tis a passing shame, that I, unworthy body as I am, should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. How could I even presume to have any opinion at all, me, just a lowly Wench? Why should you care what I think? How could I even dare to give my views on such a paragon as Proteus?