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Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner: Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
(Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take
. you this.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
That tide will stay me longer than I should;
[Exit Julia. Julia, farewell. What! gone without a word ? Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Pro. Go; I come, I come :-
Enter Launce, leading a dog. 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. 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 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,-0, 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, (0, that she could speak now!) like a woodt 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 * Kindred.
† Crazy, distracted.
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 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.
Pan. What's the unkindest tide ?
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?
Laun. For fear thou should’st lose thy tongue.
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.
Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio ? do you change colour ?
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.
Val. You have said, sir.
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 nie, I shall make your wit bankrupt. * Serious. + Perhaps.
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
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 We have convers’d, and spent our hours together : And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time, To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days: His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word (for far behind his worth Come all the praises that I now bestow), He is complete in feature, and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Duke. Beshrew* me, sir, but if he make this
good, He is as worthy for an empress' love, ...
* Ill betide.