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Why muse you, Sir ? 'tis dinner time.
Val. I have din'd.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, Sir ; tho' the Cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd
victuals, and would fain have meat : Oh, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. (Exeunt.
SC EN E II.
Change to Julia's House at Verona.
Enter Protheus and Julia. Por. AV E patience, gentle Julia.
. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If
will return the sooner : Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's fake.
[Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here, take
Jul. And feal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
Pro. Go; I come.
Changes to a Street.
Enter Launce, with his dog Crab.
‘weeping ; all the kind of the Launces • have this very fault; I have receiv'd my propor- tion, like the prodigious son, and am going
with Sir Protheus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the soureit-natur'd dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father wailing, my lifter crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity ;
yet did not this cruel-hearted 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 fa• ther ; no, no, this left shoe is
6 nay, • that cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so ; uit hath the worser sole ; this shoe, with the hole - in it, is my mother, and this my father ; a ven· geance on't, there 'tis : now, Sir, this staff is
my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lilly, 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 : oh, 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, o he
weeps on ; now come I to my mother ; oh that - she could speak now wode woman ! well, I
* Ok that she would speak like an ould Womun.] The first Folios read would. It should be wode ; mad, crazy, frantic with Grief.
: kiss her; why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath
and down : now come I to my • 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
Enter Panthion. Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is fhipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars : what's the matter ? why weep'lt 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 ?
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 lofing thy master, lose thy service ; and in losing thy service,
-why dost thou stop my mouth ?
Laun. Lose the flood, 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
Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call
S CE N E IV.
Changes to Milan.
An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Val, Mistress ?
you are not?
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
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 volly of words, gentlemen, and quickly fhot 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 ladyfhip’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
Enter the Duke. Duke. ,
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
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
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.?