That tide will stay me longer than I should; Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak ; Enter PANTHINO. Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stayed for. Pro. Go; I come, I come : Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. A street. Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog. Launce. 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. I 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 pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog a Jew would have wept to have seen : parting why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. show you the manner of it: This shoe is Our Nay, I'll 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 1 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. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. Launce. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; fcr it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty’d. Pan. What's the unkindest tide? 1 Wild, distracted. Launce. Why, he that 's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pan. 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? Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Pan. In thy tail? Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service :—and 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. Pan. Come, come, away, man; I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pan. Wilt thou go? Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Milan. A room in the Duke's palace. Enter VALENTINE, 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. SHAK. L I Speed. "Twere good, you knocked him. Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not? T'hu. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I, that I am not? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly. 1 Thu. And how quote 1 you my folly? Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change color? Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of cameleon. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.o 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. 1 Observe. 2 Breathe the same air with you. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 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; my father. Enter DUKE. here comes 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 To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son? Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves The honor and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? Val. I knew him, as myself, for from our infancy |