Proteus: just do it, yeah? Julia: I am a FOOL for love (4.4.72-83) #2Dudes1Dog #SlowShakespeare

PROTEUS       Well, give her that ring, and therewithal

This letter. [Pointing] That’s her chamber. Tell my lady

I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.

Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,

Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.

[Exit]

JULIA  How many women would do such a message?

Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertained

A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.

Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him

That with his very heart despiseth me?

Because he loves her, he despiseth me;

Because I love him, I must pity him.           (4.4.72-83)

 

Proteus has the option of a slight pause—something’s slightly off here but I can’t put my finger on it—or else an implicit WHATEVER: well, give her that ring, and therewithal this letter. Just do it, OK? That’s her chamber—see? Right over there. And tell my lady I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Total obsessive, monomaniac: I want it and so she has to give it to me. And yeah, when you’ve done that, hie home unto my chamber, where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Come straight back to my room; I’ll be there, all alone, feeling sorry for myself.

[Cue incredulous laughter from the audience, that anyone could be quite so self-obsessed, self-centred, and yet lacking in self-awareness. Dude, can you HEAR yourself?]

How many women would do such a message? How many indeed. Oh, Julia, sister. But she’s too far gone to back out (and what are her options, really?) Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertained a fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. You’ve hired someone who cannot but play you false. She briefly seems to get a grip: alas, poor fool, why do I pity him that with his very heart despiseth me? Surely I don’t owe him anything, least of all pity, when he’s been treating me with such contempt? I am the poor fool here. And so she reinforces it, spells it out to herself, presses on the bruise: because he loves her, he despiseth me. He’s got no respect for me because he loves her; he’s not thinking about me anymore at all. But because I love him—still—I must pity him. I don’t have a choice, I have to take his part. That’s what love means, right? Right?

 

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