SILVIA             I am very loath to be your idol, sir.

But, since your falsehood shall become you well

To worship shadows and adore false shapes,

Send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it.

And so, good rest.      [Exit.]

PROTEUS       As wretches have o’ernight

That wait for execution in the morn.          [Exit.]

JULIA  Host, will you go?

HOST  By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

JULIA  Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

HOST  Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think ’tis almost day.

JULIA  Not so; but it hath been the longest night

That e’er I watched, and the most heaviest.          [ Exeunt.]         (4.2.119-130)

Silvia’s response is mostly setting up a plot point, but it’s also an expression of weary frustration, this might be the only way to get rid of Proteus, and therefore a chance worth taking, and it’s also a recognition—despite her sharp wit, her sarcasm, and her definite views—that Silvia ultimately lacks agency here. I am very loath to be your idol, sir. I don’t want your creepy worship! But since your falsehood shall become you well to worship shadows and adore false shapes—since you’re so deluded, living in such a fantasy world that you think it’s OK to be in love with dreams, and to have made false gods to bow down before (and there’s a swirling echo of the ten commandments here, in all the wrongs that Proteus has done)—then you might as well have my picture too. You’re so far gone that I can’t see what difference it’s going to make. So send to me in the morning, and I’ll send it. Send a messenger to me in the morning and I’ll hand it over. And so, good rest. GOOD NIGHT.

Proteus is, of course, hyperbolically ecstatic and also weird: I can’t wait I can’t wait I can’t wait I won’t sleep a wink! As wretches have o’ernight that wait for execution in the morn: I’ll be like a condemned man the night before his execution! That sounds fun? Why does Proteus think of love in terms of suffering and dread? But in some ways he’s speaking for Julia, changing the tone, darkening it as he exits, unaware of her presence.

There may be a pause for Julia to get herself together before she speaks: host, will you go? Can we please leave now? By my halidom—by all that’s holy—I was fast asleep. So there’s been no witness to Proteus and Silvia, or to Julia’s distress; she’s totally alone with this. (And also: there needs to be something for the Host to sleep on—a stool or a bench against the tiring house wall or one of the stage pillars?) Julia has one more question: pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? (Everywhere and all the time, might be one answer, but really she’s asking, where’s he staying?) Marry, at my house. Oh good, in the same inn where Julia’s taken lodging. Trust me, I think ’tis almost day—moving the time on, almost dawn, we’ve been up all night. Not so, says Julia, referring not to the time of day but to her own feeling of dread, that the sun will never rise again, now that she’s witnessed Proteus’s betrayal and his lies. It hath been the longest night that e’er I watched, and the most heaviest. This is the longest time I’ve ever stayed awake—I thought and think it will never end—and the worst, the saddest, most painful and depressing. She conjures the heavy-headedness of the morning after a sleepless night, a kind of leaden loneliness. And that’s the end of the scene.