SILVIA Nay, then he should be blind, and being blind,

How could he see his way to seek out you?

VALENTINE    Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.

THURIO          They say that love hath not an eye at all.

VALENTINE To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself.

Upon a homely object, love can wink.

SILVIA Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman.         (2.4.85-91)

Silvia’s quibbling: if Julia still has Proteus’s eyes held prisoner, then he should be blind, and being blind, how could he see his way to seek out you? Proteus’s here, isn’t he? Valentine’s sort-of gallant, if extremely muddled: why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes!  (But Valentine also doesn’t like being disagreed with, it seems, even in sportive banter, especially by a woman.) Thurio has a go, pushing in—remember me, I’m still here! I can do wit! They say that love hath not an eye at all. He’s right, of course: love is blind, proverbially. Valentine’s not having him joining in, he needs to keep Thurio in his place, and so he sneers at him: well, love’s certainly blind when it comes to seeing such lovers, Thurio, as yourself. Love’s not paying you any attention; you’re always going to be overlooked by love. After all, upon a homely object, love can wink. That’s flat-out mean, in effect saying, you’re too ugly, love keeps its eyes shut rather than glance in your direction. No one’s going to love you. Silvia’s quite justified in telling them just to give over and shut up, enough of the petty point-scoring: have done, have done! give it a rest, you’re doing my head in! here comes the gentleman. And, so, enter Proteus…