&plquo;Laun.

&plquo;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 sowrest-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 her self 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; oh, the dog is me, and I am my self; 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; oh that she could speak now like ^{a note}an ould 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.&prquo;

Pant.

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 tarry any longer.

Laun.

It is no matter if the tide were lost, for it is the unkindest tide 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 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.

Pant.

Where should I lose my tongue?

Laun.

In thy tale.

Pant.

In thy tail.

Laun.

Lose the flood, and the voyage, and the master, 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 sighs.

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.

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