SERVANT Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
SILVIA I wait upon his pleasure.
[Exit Servant]
Come, Sir Thurio,
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.
I’ll leave you to confer of home affairs.
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
PROTEUS We’ll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio]
VALENTINE Now tell me, how do all from whence you came?
PROTEUS Your friends are well, and have them much commended.
VALENTINE And how do yours?
PROTEUS I left them all in health. (2.4.108-116)
A bit of stage management: Silvia and Thurio need to be got off-stage so that Proteus and Valentine can catch up properly, and so the Duke summons his daughter—madam, my lord your father would speak with you—and Silvia, now playing the dutiful daughter rather than the arch mistress (but perhaps rather pleased to get away from these ardent young men, or two of them at least) complies: I wait upon his pleasure. And—taking one for the team, although also taking the opportunity to keep Valentine on his toes, and now Proteus too—come, Sir Thurio, go with me. (Thurio can give the others a triumphant look, however misguided, even a swift rude gesture, as he scrambles after Silvia.) But Silvia continues the flirtation with Proteus in the terms of her leave-taking, at least: once more, new servant, welcome. I’ll leave you to confer of home affairs: you boys can have a good old catch-up, just the two of you! When you have done, we look to hear from you. Just come and find me when you’re finished your chit-chat. And it’s Proteus who confirms that, perhaps speaking over Valentine, perhaps the two of them speaking at once: we’ll both attend upon your ladyship. We’ll be right there! Both of us!
Big hug between Valentine and Proteus; they are genuinely thrilled to see each other, it seems. Probably. (There’s no sense of how long it’s been; it doesn’t really matter.) And it’s news that Valentine wants first: now tell me, how do all from whence you came? Are all the family, all our friends—are they OK? (An early modern audience would know the charge, and the import, of such a question; how often must travellers have had to deliver bad news from home, in an age of uncertain communication?) Your friends are well—all your family’s fine—and have them much commended; they all send you their very best wishes! And how do yours? How are all your folks, Proteus? I left them all in health: they’re fine too. A slightly stilted formula? although conventional, and recognising that much could change in the duration of a journey. (There’s a heart-rending version of this exchange of conventional pleasantries, recognising its terrible potential for ambiguity, in Ross’s meeting with Macduff in the English court in Macbeth.)
So that’s the preliminaries out of the way. Everything’s fine in Verona! What next? (And is Proteus acting weird at all? A choice to be made…)