VALENTINE    How does your lady? And how thrives your love?

PROTEUS       My tales of love were wont to weary you.

I know you joy not in a love-discourse.

VALENTINE Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now.

I have done penance for contemning love,

Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me

With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,

With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs.      (2.4.117-124)

On to the more important stuff, then: how does your lady? how’s the lovely Julia then? and how thrives your love? how’s it going with the two of you? are you, you know, getting anywhere?  Prevarication: oh, you don’t want to hear about any of that! my tales of love were wont to weary you. I know you joy not in a love-discourse. You’re just not interested, are you? you’d take no pleasure in it if I were to tell you—in fact, you’ll be yawning and making that bring-me-a-bucket gesture in no time if I start talking about Julia! (There might be the odd play-punch to the arm? Mate! We don’t need to talk about that stuff, really, it’s OK.)

But Valentine’s changed his tune, totally. Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now. Everything’s changed. I have done penance for contemning love—everything I’ve sneered at it, all my mockery and vilification—it’s well and truly come back to bite me now. And love’s high imperious thoughts have punished me—oh yes, all-powerful, all-controlling—with bitter fasts, with penitential groans, with nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs. I’m off my food, moaning and groaning, crying into my pillow, and sighing up a storm. I’ve got it bad! It’s hell!