The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Act 2, Scene 3
Verona. A street.
- Enter Launce, leading a dog.
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- 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
- Proteus 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 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 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 lily 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 wood 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.
- Enter Panthino.
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- 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’ll lose the tide, if you tarry any
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- It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the
- unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
- What’s the unkindest tide?
- Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog.
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- 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?
- For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
- Where should I lose my tongue?
- In thy tale.
- In thy tail!
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- Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the
- service, and the tied! 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.
- Come; come away, man—I was sent to call thee.
- Sir—call me what thou dar’st.
- Wilt thou go?
- Well, I will go.