Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; Pant. Sir Proteus, 'you are stay'd for. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. SCENE III. [Exit JUL. [Exeunt. { The same. A street. Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. I Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault: I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. think, Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruelhearted cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very pebblestone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it: This shoe is my father;-no, this left shoe is my father;-no, no, this left shoe is my mother;-nay, that cannot be so neither;—yes, it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole: This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; A vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog :-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,-O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing; now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman;—well, I kiss her;—why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down: now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears. Enter PANTHINO. Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide? Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,Why dost thou stop my mouth? Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Laun. In thy tale. Pant. In thy tail? Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide !-Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. Pant. Wilt thou go? Laun. Well, I will go. SCENE IV. [Exeunt. Milan. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter VALEN TINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Sil. Servant Val. Mistress? Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. Speed. Not of you. Val. Of my mistress then. Speed. 'Twere good, you knocked him. Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quote you my folly ? Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour? Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chamelion. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. Val. You have said, sir. Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant? Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father. Enter DUKE. Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : What say you to a letter from your friends Of much good news? Val. My lord, I will be thankful [5] To quote is to observe. STEEVENS.-Valentine in his answer plays upon the word, which was pronounced as if written coat. MALONE. To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son? Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection; Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. [Exit DUKE Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still. Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object love can wink. Enter PROTeus. Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. Val. Welcome, dear Proteus!-Mistress, I beseech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. No; that you are worthless. Enter Servant. Serv. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Serv.]-Come, sir Thurio, Go with me :-Once more, new servant, welcome : When you have done, we look to hear from you. [Exeunt SIL. THU. and SPEED. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours? Pro. I left them all in health. Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your love? Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: |