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Speed. Oh! 'give ye good ev'n; here's a million of


Sil. Sir Valentine and fervant, to you two thousand. Speed. He fhould give her intereft; and she gives it him.

Val. As you injoin'd me, I have writ your letter, Unto the fecret, nameless, friend of yours; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship.

Sil. I thank you, gentle fervant; 'tis very clerkly done.

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off: For being ignorant to whom it goes,

I writ at random, very doubtfully.

Sil. Perchance, you think too much of so much pains? Val. No, Madam, fo it fteed you, I will write, Pleafe you command, a thoufand times as much. And yet

Sil. A pretty period; well, I guefs the fequel;
And yet
I will not name it; and yet I care not;
And yet take this again, and
I thank you;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.


Speed. And yet you will; and will; and yet, another yet. [Afide. Val. What means your ladyfhip? do you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes, the lines are very quaintly writ; But fince unwillingly, take them again; Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, Sir, at my request; But I will none of them; they are for you:

I would have had them writ more movingly.

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Sil. And when it's writ, for my fake read it over; And if it pleafe you, fo; if not, why fo. Val. If it pleafe me, madam, what then?

Sil. Why if it please you, take it for your labour; And fo good morrow, fervant.

Speed. O jeft unfeen, infcrutable, invisible,



As a nofe on a man's face, or a weathercock on a


My mafter fues to her, and the hath taught her fuitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor:

O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my mafter, being the fcribe, to himfelf fhould write the letter?

Val. How now, Sir, what are you* reasoning with yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhiming; 'tis you that have the


Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a fpokefman from madam Silvia.

Val. To whom?

Speed. To yourfelf; why, fhe wooes you by a figure. Val What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I fhould fay.

Val. Why, the hath not writ to me?

Speed What need fhe,

When the hath made you write to yourself?

Why, do you not perceive the jeft?"

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. Speed. Why, the hath given you a letter.

Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend, Speed. And that letter hath the deliver'd, and there's an end.

Val. I would it were no worse.

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:

"For often have you writ to her, and fhe in modefty, "Or elfe for want of idle time, could not again reply; "Or fearing else fome meffenger, that might her mind " discover.

"Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto "her lover."

* That is difcourfing, talking. An Italianism.`

All this I fpeak in print; for in print I found it.
Why mufe you, Sir? 'tis dinner time.

Val. I have din'd.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, Sir: tho' the Cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat: Oh be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.


Changes to Julia's Houfe at Verona.

Enter Protheus and Julia.

Pro.AVE patience, gentle Julia.


Jul. I muft, where is no remedy. Pro. When poffibly I can, I will return.

Jul. If you turn not, you will return the fooner: Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's fake.

[Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you this.

Jul. And feal the bargain with a holy kifs. Pro. Here is my hand for my true conftancy; And when that hour o'erflips me in the day. Wherein I figh not, Julia, for thy fake; The next enfuing hour fome foul mifchance Torment me, for my love's forgetfulness! My father ftays my coming; anfwer not: The tide is now; nay, not thy tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer, than I should: [Exit Julia. Julia, farewel. What! gone without a word? Ay, fo true love fhould do; it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.

Enter Panthion.

Pan. Sir Protheus, you are ftaid for.


Pro. Go; I come.

Alas! this parting ftrikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.,


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Enter Launce, with his dog Crab.

Ne of


'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 fon, and am going with Sir Protheus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the fowreft natur'd dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my fifter crying, our maid, howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our houfe in a great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur fhed one tear! he is a ftone, a very pebble-ftone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a few would have wept, to have feen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll fhow you the manner of it: this fhoe is my father; no, this left fhoe is my father; no, no, this left fhoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so neither; yes, it is fo, it is fo; it hath the worfer fole; this fhoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance on't, there 'tis now, Sir, this ftaff is my fifter; for, look you, fhe 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: 2 oh, the dog is me, and I am myfelf; ay, fo, fo; now come I to my father;

2 I am the dog, &c.] This paffage is much confufed, and of confufion the prefent reading makes no end. Sir J. Hanmer reads, I am the dog, no, the dog is bimfelf and I am me, the dog

is the dog, and I am myself. This certainly is more reasonable, but I know not how much-reason the Authour intended to bestow on Launce's foliloquy.


father, your bleffing; now thould not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now fhould I kifs my father; well, he weeps on; now come I to my mother; oh that she could speak now!—3 like a wood woman! well, I kifs her; why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath up and down now come I to my fifter: mark the moan fhe makes: now the dog all this while fheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but fee, how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter Panthion.

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy mafter is shipp'd, and thou art to port after with oars: what's the matter? why weep'it thou, man? away, ass, you will lofe the tide if you tarry any longer.

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were loft, for it is the unkindest ty'd 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 thoul't lofe the flood; and in lofing the flood, lofe thy voyage; and in lofing thy voyage, lose thy master; and in lofing thy maiter, lofe thy fervice; and in lofing thy fervice,why doft thou ftop my mouth?

Laun. For fear thou fhould'ft lofe thy tongue.
Pant. Where fhould I lofe my tongue?

Laun. In thy tale?

Pant. In thy tail?.

Laun. Lofe the flood, and the voyage, and the mafter, and the fervice, and the tide ? why, man, if

3 Like a wood Woman!] The firft Folio's agree in would-woman; for which, because it was a Mystery to Mr. Pope, he has unmeaningly fubftituted ould WoBut it must be writ, or at leaft underflood, wood Woman.


i. e. crazy, frantick with Grief; or distracted, from any other Caufe. The word is very frequently ufed in Chaucer; and fometimes writ, wood, fometimes, wode. THEOBALD.

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