our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll fhow 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, fir, this staff is my fifter; for, look you, fhe is as white as a lily, 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," -O, the dog is me, and I am myself; 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, he weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (O, that she could fpeak now!) like a wood woman; -well, I kiss I am the dog: &c.] A fimilar thought occurs in a play printed earlier than the prefent. See A Chriftian 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 prefents himself." STEEVENS. I am the dog, &c.] This paffage is much confused, and of confufion the prefent 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 reafon the author intended to bestow on Launce's foliloquy. JOHNSON. firft folios agree in mystery to Mr. Pope, But it must be writ, crazy, frantic with The word is very 8 like a wood woman;-] The would-woman: for which, because it was a he has unmeaningly substituted ould woman. or at least understood, wood woman, i. e. grief; or diftracted, from any other caufe. frequently used in Chaucer; and fometimes writ wood, fometimes wode. THEOBALD. Print thus: "Now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman.” Perhaps the humour would be heightened by reading-(0, that the fhoe could speak now!) BLACKSTONE. I her; why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down: now come I to my fifter; mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this while fheds not a tear, nor fpeaks a word; but fee how I lay the duft with my tears. Enter PANTHINO. PAN. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is fhipped, and thou art to poft after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'ft thou, man? Away, afs; you will lose 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. PAN. What's the unkindeft tide? 9 LAUN. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. PAN. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lofe the flood; I have followed the punctuation recommended by Sir W. Blackftone. The emendation propofed by him was made, I find, by Sir T. Hanmer. MALONE. O that he could speak now like a wood woman!] Launce is defcribing the melancholy parting between him and his family. In order to do this more methodically, he makes one of his shoes ftand for his father, and the other for his mother. And when he has done taking leave of his father, he fays, Now come I to my mother, turning to the fhoe that is fuppofed to perfonate her. And in order to render the reprefentation more perfect, he expresses his wish that it could fpeak like a woman frantic with grief! There could be no doubt about the fenfe of the paffage, had he faid "O that it could fpeak like a wood woman!" But he uses the feminine pronoun in fpeaking of the shoe, because it is supposed to reprefent a woman. M. MASON. if the ty'd were loft;] This quibble, wretched as it is, might have been borrowed by Shak fpeare from Lilly's Endymion, 1591: Epi. You know it is faid, the tide tarrieth for no man.— Sam. True.-Epi. A monftrous lye: for I was ty'd two hours, and tarried for one to unloofe me.' The fame play on words occurs in Chapman's Andromeda Liberata, 1614: "And now came roaring to the tied the tide." STEEVENS, and, in lofing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in LAUN. For fear thou fhould'ft lofe thy tongue. LAUN. In thy tale. LAUN. Lofe the tide, master, and the service? if the river were dry, I tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my fighs. and the voyage, and the The tide!'-Why, man, am able to fill it with my PAN. Come, come away, man; I was fent to call thee. LAUN. Sir, call me what thou darest. PAN. Wilt thou go? LAUN. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. SIL. Servant VAL. Miftrefs? SPEED. Mafter, fir Thurio frowns on you. 2 Lofe the tide,] Thus the old copy. Some of the modern editors read the flood. STEEVENS. 3 The tide !] The old copy reads—" and the tide." I once fuppofed these three words to have been repeated, through fome error of the tranfcriber or printer; but, pointed as the paffage now is, (with the omiffion of and) it feems to have fufficient meaning. STEEVENS. VAL. Ay, boy, it's for love. SPEED. Not of you. VAL. Of my mistress then. SPEED. 'Twere good, you knock'd 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? 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, fir Thurio? do colour? you change VAL. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of cameleon. 4—how quote you my folly?] To quote is to obferve. So, in Hamlet: "I am forry that with better heed and judgement "I had not quoted him." STEEVENS. Valentine in his anfwer plays upon the word, which was pronounced as if written coat. So, in The Rape of Lucrece, 1594: the illiterate, that know not how "To cipher what is writ in learned books, my looks." In our poet's time words were thus frequently fpelt by the ear. MALONE. THU. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. VAL. You have faid, fir. THU. Ay, fir, and done too, for this time. VAL. I know it well, fir; 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, fervant? VAL. Yourself, fweet lady; for you gave the fire: fir 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, fir: 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 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 Antonio, your countryman? s 5 Know you Don Antonio, your countryman?] The word Don fhould be omitted; as befides the injury it does to the metre, the |
