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But I will none of them; they are for you :
Val. Please you, I'll write your Ladyship another.
fake read it over; And if it please you, so; if not, why so
Val. If it please me, Madam, what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour; And so good morrow, servant.
write the letter?
Speed. Nay, I was rhiming; 'tis you that have the reason.
Val. To do what?
Speed. What need the,
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.
Val. I would it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well :
Or fearing else fome messenger, that might her mind dis
cover, Herself hath 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; though the Cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat. Oh! be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Changes to Julia's house at Verona.
Enter Protheus and Julia.
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
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
[Exit Julia Julia, farewel.
What! gone without a word ?
Pro. Go; I come.
SCENE III. Changes to a ftreet,
Enter Launce, with his dog Crab. 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 pro
digious fon, and am going with Sir Protheus to the • Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the • fouret-natur'd dog that lives My mother weeping, • my father wailing, my filter crying, our maid howl
ing, our cat wringing her hands and all our house • in a great perplexity: yet did not this cruel-hearted
cur ihed one tear! He is a stone, a very pebble-itone, ' 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 man• ner 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 to neither : yes, it is io, it is « so; it hath the worfer fole This shoe, with the hole • in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance I on't, there 'tis. Now, ir, this staff is my fitter; for, • look you, she is as white as a lily, and as imall as a I wand. This hat, is an, our maid; I am the døg:
no, the dog is himself; and I am the dog : oh, the
dog is me, and I am myfelf; ay, fo, fo. Now come • I to my father: Father, your blessing : now should
not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now thould I kiss my father; well, he weeps on.
Now come I to my mother; oh that she could speak now like a • wode 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 the makes. • Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor
speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my
Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars : what's
the matter? why weep'ít 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 man tyd.
Pant. What's the unkindest tide ?
Pant. Tut, man, I mean thoul't lose the flood, and in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and in lofing thy matter lole thy service ; and in losing thy service, why doft thou stop my mouth ?
Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Laun. Lose the flood, and the voyage, and the mafter, 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 my fighs. Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. Laun. Sir, call me what thou dar'it. Pant. Wilt thou go? Laun. Well, I will go.
SCENE IV. Cbanges to Milan.
An apartment in the Duke's palace.
Val. So do you.
Val. Give him leave, Madam; he is a kind of Ca. nieleon.
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.
Val Yourself, sweet Lady; for you gave the fire : Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your i adyship'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, air, 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.
S CE N E V. Enter the Duke.
friends Of much good news?
Val. My Lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence.