Launce.
Speed.
Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan2 note.
Launce.
Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am
not welcome. I reckon this always—that a man is
never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to
a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess
say, welcome.
Speed.
Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse
with you presently; where for one shot of five pence
thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah,
how did thy master part with madam Julia?
Launce.
Marry, after they closed in earnest, they
parted very fairly in jest.
Speed.
But shall she marry him?
Launce.
No.
Speed.
How then? Shall he marry her?
Launce.
No, neither.
Speed.
What, are they broken?
Launce.
No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed.
Why then, how stands the matter with them?
Launce.
Marry, thus: when it stands well with him,
it stands well with her.
Speed.
What an ass art thou? I understand thee
not.
Launce.
What a block art thou, that thou canst not.
My staff understands me.
Speed.
What thou say'st?
Launce.
Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but
lean, and my staff understands me.
-- 123 --
Speed.
It stands under thee, indeed.
Launce.
Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.
Speed.
But tell me true, will't be a match?
Launce.
Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he
say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it
will.
Speed.
The conclusion is, then, that it will.
Launce.
Thou shalt never get such a secret from me,
but by a parable.
Speed.
'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how
say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover?
Launce.
I never knew him otherwise.
Speed.
Than how?
Launce.
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to
be.
Speed.
Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me.
Launce.
Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy
master.
Speed.
I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
Launce.
Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn
himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the ale-house3 note:
if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not
worth the name of a Christian.
Speed.
Why?
Launce.
Because thou hast not so much charity in
thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou
go?
Speed.
At thy service.
[Exeunt.
-- 124 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
