Lau.

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 sourest-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 pibble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog; a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandame, 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 so 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 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,—O, 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, he weeps on: now come I to my mother;—O, 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 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 tears* ^note.

Pan.

Launce! away, away, aboard; thy master is ship'd, and thou art to post after with oars: What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Lau.

It is no matter, if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd.

Pan.

What's the unkindest tide?

Lau.

Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.

Pan.

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?

Lau.

For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.

&blquo;Pan.

&blquo;Where should I lose my tongue?&brquo;

&blquo;Lau.

&blquo;In thy tale.&brquo;

&blquo;Pan.

&blquo;In thy tail?&brquo;

&blquo;Lau.

&blquo;Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service?—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 sighs.&brquo;

Pan.

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

Lau.

Sir, call me what thou dar'st.

Pan.

Wilt thou go?

Lau.

Well, I will go.