Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

Val. No, madam, so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much: And yet

Sil. A pretty period! well, I guess the sequel ; And yet I will not name it :- and yet I care not ; And yet take this again ;- and yet I thank you; Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet.

Afide.
Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it?

Sil. Yes, yes ! the lines are very quaintly writ;
But since unwillingly, take them again ;
Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, Sir, at my request; But I will none of them; they are for you: I would have had them writ more movingly.

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

Sil. And when it's writ, for my fake read it over : And if it please you, so: if not, why, fo.

Val. If it please me, madam, what then?

Sil. Why if it please you, take it for your labour : And so good-morrow, servant.

[Exit. Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a

steeple! My master fues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my master, being the scribe, to himself should write the letter?

Val. How now, Sir, what are you s reasoning with yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhiming ; 'tis you that have the reason.

Val. To do what?
Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.
Val. To whom?
Speed. To yourself; why, she wooes you by a figure.
Val. What figure ?
Speed. By a letter, I should say.
Val. Why, she hath not writ to me?
Speed. What need she, when she made you write to

yourself?
Why, do you not perceive the jest ?

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No believing you indeed, Sir : but did you perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end.

Val. I would it were no worse.

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : For often you have writ to ber; and me in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; Or fearing else some messenger, that might ber mind dif

cover, Herself bath taught her love himself to write unto her

lover. All this I speak in print; for in print I found it.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

- reasoning with yourself?] That is, discoursing, talking. An Italianism. JOHNSON.

by

by my victuals, and would fain have meat: Oh be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. (Exeunt.

Ś C É NE II.

Julia's house at Verona.

Enter Protheus and Julia.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Yul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.

Jul. If you turn not, you will return the fooner : Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

[Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here, take

you this.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o’er-Nips me in the day,
Wherein. I sigh not, Julia, for thy fake;
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me, for my love's forgetfulness!
My father stays my coming; answer not:
The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ;
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.

Enter Panthino. i
Pan. Sir Protheus, you are staid for.

Pro. Go; I come, I come :-
Alas! this parting strikes poor fovers'dumb. (Exeunt.

'SCENE

SC EN E III.

A street.

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 receiv'd my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Protheus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the fourest natur'd 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 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 father ;-no, no, this left shoe is my mother ;-nay, that cannot be fo 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 2 I am the dog :--oh, the dog is me,

'- I am the dog, &c.] A fimilar thought occurs in a play of elder date than this. See A Christian turn’d Turk, 1612. "

“ — you shall stand for the lady, you for her dog, and

“ I the page; you and the dog looking one upon

“ another: the page presents himself.” Stevens. 2 – I am the dog, &c.] This passage is much confused, and of confusion the prelent reading makes no end. Sir T. Hanmer reads, I am the dog, no, the dog is himself and I am me, the dog is the dog, and I am myself. This certainly is more reasonable, but I know not how much reason the author intended to bestow on Launce's foliloquy. JOHNSON. Vol. I,

and

and I am myself; ay, fo, fo. Now come I to my father; Father, your blesing; now should not the shoe fpeak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on: now come I to my mother ;-oh that she could speak now!3 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 njoan she makes : now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but fee how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter Panthino. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipp'd, 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 carry any longer.

Laun. It is no matter if the tyd were loft; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty’d.

Pan. What's the unkindest tide ?
Loun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.

Pon. 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.
Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ?
Laun. In thy tale.
Pan. In thy tail?
Laun. 4 Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the