PROTEUS       But, good my lord, do it so cunningly

That my discovery be not aimed at;

For love of you, not hate unto my friend,

Hath made me publisher of this pretence.

DUKE  Upon mine honour, he shall never know

That I had any light from thee of this.

PROTEUS       Adieu, my lord. Sir Valentine is coming.

[Exit]               (3.1.44-50)

Has Proteus reached peak weasel yet? surely? If you’re going to waylay Valentine imminently, he says, and ask him if he’s seen a rope ladder or plotted an elopement recently—do me a favour and don’t say you heard about it from me? good my lord, do it so cunningly that my discovery be not aimed at? Please? don’t out me as the one who squealed? After all, love of you, not hate unto my friend, hath made me publisher of this pretence. I’m only betraying my friendbecause I’m concerned for you, I don’t want your feeling to be hurt, your trust to be betrayed. I care about you, dude! That’s the only reason I’m blowing the whistle and revealing this carefully planned escapade. (When Proteus is in a hole, does he stop digging? He does not. He protests too much, by default.) Of course Proteus may well believe that he is still Valentine’s friend, even as he betrays him. But he’s not acting like a friend. The Duke’s willing to play along, it seems: upon my honour—man to man, as a gentleman, what does that even mean in this play by now?—he shall never know that I had any light from thee of this. I won’t tell on you like you’ve told on him. I won’t betray you. But Proteus is out of there already, quick as he can: adieu, my lord. Later! Sir Valentine is coming, and I can’t bring myself to exchange even the briefest of pleasantries with him, with my best friend, give what I’ve just done to him.