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Enter SILVIA. Speed. O excellent motion!! O exceeding puppet! now will he interpret to her.
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.
Speed. O, 'give you good even! here's a million of manners.
[ Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
Speed. Ile should give her interest; and she gives it him.
Val. As you enjoined me, I have writ your letter Unto the secret, nameless friend of
yours; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: '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
Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel ; And yet I will not name it :-and
I care not; -
[ Aside. Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it?
Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ:
Val. Madam, they are for you.
1 Motion signified, in Shakspeare's time, a puppet-show. Speed means to say, “What a fine puppet-show shall we have now! Here is the principal puppet to whom my master will be the interpreter.” The show-man was then frequently called the interpreter.
2 i. e. like a scholar.
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 sake read it over : And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam! what then?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labor ; And so, good-morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia.
Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As à nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a
steeple ! My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my master, being scribe, to himself should write
the letter? Val. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning with yourself?
Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason.
Val. To do what?
Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?
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, she hath given you a letter. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.
Val. I would, it were no worse.
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
discover, Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her
lover. All this I speak in print;' for in print I found it.Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.
Val. I have dined.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat: O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter PROTEUS and Julia.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
[Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
[Exit Julia Juliä, farewell.—What! gone without a word !
i With exactness.
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
Í Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt.
Enter Launce, leading a dog. Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault; I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the sourestnatured 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 ;-oh, 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. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
Laun. 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 ?
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
Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.
Laun. Lose the tide, 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
stop my mouth?
Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.