PROTEUS       Enough. I read your fortune in your eye.

Was this the idol that you worship so?

VALENTINE    Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

PROTEUS No. But she is an earthly paragon.

VALENTINE Call her divine.

PROTEUS I will not flatter her.

VALENTINE O flatter me, for love delights in praises.

PROTEUS When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,

And I must minister the like to you.            (2.4.135-142)

Enough. I read your fortune in your eye, says Proteus to his best friend. I can tell what a state you’re in just by looking at you: you’re a lover now. And was this the idol that you worship so? This is her, yes? The one you’ve fallen so badly for? Even she—yes!!!—that’s her. And is she not a heavenly saint? She’s amazing, isn’t she? Absolute perfection! Er, no, says Proteus, steady on. But I’ll grant you that she is an earthly paragon. She’s good for a mortal, even if she’s not quite goddess-grade. Call her divine, is Valentine’s comeback. Come on, acknowledge that she’s utterly amazing and gorgeous; see her through my eyes! She’s absolute heaven! I will not flatter her, says Proteus, continuing to be self-contained, not joining in. Steady on, mate, keep things in perspective. Valentine might not even notice that Proteus is being a bit weird? O flatter me, for love delights in praises! If you admit that she’s a goddess, and give her the praise that’s her due, then you’ll be flattering me; like all lovers I love to hear the one I love being spoken of with admiration!

But Proteus is now being properly stern. Look, when I was sick, you gave me bitter pills. You told me off good and proper for my love melancholy, tried to make me see sense, told me harsh truths, and that I needed to keep it real. And now I must minister the like to you. It’s your turn, and it’s my turn: I have to try to get you to keep things in perspective, give you antidotes to this intense love-fever with which you’re so thoroughly afflicted. Brace yourself!