VALENTINE    No more, unless the next word that thou speak’st

Have some malignant power upon my life.

If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,

As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

PROTEUS       Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,

And study help for that which thou lament’st.

Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love.

Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.   (3.1.234-242)

Valentine’s really losing it, which may be Proteus’s objective, or perhaps he just can’t help himself: no more, says Valentine, I can’t take it, unless the next word that thou speak’st have some malignant power upon my life. Don’t tell me any more about Silvia’s suffering, or about my terrible situation, unless—somehow—you have the ability to kill me simply by speaking. And if you have that power, if so, I pray thee breathe it in my ear—go on, whisper it, the word that could kill me, the last straw—as ending anthem of my endless dolour. Such a word, even as it killed me, would be like beautiful music in ending my suffering, my grief, which is infinite. (Editor makes a note to think more about anthems…)

Proteus, however, is fully of neatly-packaged proverbial wisdom, tired and second-hand. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help—no point in crying over spilt milk—and study help for that which thou lament’st. Be practical! Find a way through your troubles rather than wallowing in them! After all, time is the nurse and breeder of all good: time heals all wounds. All things pass! And he helpfully points out the bleeding obvious: here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love: even if you were to hang around in Milan—Silvia’s locked up! you won’t be able to see her anyway! And, besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. You’re banished on pain of death! Staying—and getting caught—is a literal death sentence!

With friends like these etc etc.