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

Change to Julia's Houfe at Verona.
Enter Protheus and Julia.

Por. TAVE patience, gentle Julia.

H

Jul. I'muft, where is no remedy.

Pro. When poffibly I can, I will return.

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

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

Jul. And feal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true conftancy; And when that hour o'erflips me in the day, Wherein I figh not, Julia, for thy fake ; The next enfuing hour fome foul mifchance 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 ftay me longer, than I should: [Exit Julia. Julia, farewel.What! gone without a word? Ay, fo true love fhould do; it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.

Enter Panthion.

Pan. Sir Protheus, you are ftaid for.

Pro. Go; I come.

Alas! this parting ftrikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt.

SCENE

Laun.6

NAY

[AY, '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 fon, and am going ' with Sir Protheus to the Imperial's court. I think, • Crab my dog be the foureft-natur'd dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my fifter crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur fhed one tear ! he is a ftone, a very pebble-ftone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a few would have wept, to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herfeff blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it: this fhoe is my father; no, this left fhoe is my father; no, no, this left fhoe is my mother ; nay, that cannot be fo neither; yes, it is fo, it is fo; it hath the worfer fole; this fhoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance on't, there 'tis now, Sir, this ftaff is my fifter; for, look you, fhe is as white as a lilly, and as fmall 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; 6 ay, so, so ; now come I to my father; father, your bleffing; now should not the fhoe speak a word for weeping; now fhould I kifs my father; well, weeps on; now come I to my mother; oh that fhe could speak now like a *wode woman! well, I

6

• he

would.

Oh that he would speak like an ould Woman.] The first Folios read
It should be wode; mad, crazy, frantic with Grief.

• kifs

kifs her; why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath up and down: now come I to my fifter: 'mark the moan fhe makes: now the dog all this ⚫ while sheds not a tear, nor fpeaks a word; but fee, how I lay the duft with my tears.

Enter Panthion.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy mafter is fhipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars: what's the matter? why weep't thou, man? away, ass, you will lofe the tide if you tarry any longer.

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were loft, for it is the unkindeft 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 lofe the flood; and in lofing the flood, lofe thy voyage; and in lofing thy voyage, lofe thy mafter; and in lofing thy mafter, lofe thy fervice; and in lofing thy fervice, -why doft thou flop my mouth?

Laun. For fear thou fhould't lose thy tongue.
Pant. Where fhould I lofe my tongue?
Laun. In thy tale.

Pant. In thy tail?

Laun. Lofe the flood, and the voyage, and the mafter, and the fervice, 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 fighs.

Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.

Pant. Wilt thou go?

Laun. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed.

Sil. Val. Miftrefs?

ERVANT,

Speed. Mafter, 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 knockt him.

Sil. Servant, you are fad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I feem fo.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

Thu. What feem I, that I am not?
Val. Wife.

Thu. What inftance of the contrary?
Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly ?
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val Well then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?

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 faid, Sit.

Thu. Ay, Sir, and done too, for this time.

1

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, fervant?

;

Val. Yourself, fweet 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 fhall 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.

Duke.

SCENE V.

Enter the Duke.

NOW, daughter Silvia, you are hard befet.

Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:

What fay you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?

Val. My lord, I will be thankful

To any happy meffenger from thence.

Duke. Know you Don Anthonio, your countryman? Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth and worthy eftimation;

And, not without defert, fo well reputed.

Duke. Hath he not a fon?

Val. Ay, my good lord, a fon that well deferves The honour and regard of fuch a father,

Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew him, as myfelf; for from our infancy

We