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Pant. In my tail ?
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 fole; 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 líster; for, look you, The 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 me: ay,
the dog is the dog, 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 the shoe could speak now like 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.
Enter Panthion. Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipp’d, and thou art to post after with oars : what's the matter ? why weep’ft 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?
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.
Laun. Lose the food, 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.
Changes to Milan.
in your air.
Val. You have said, sir.
Val. Yourself, sweet lady, for you gave the fire: fir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship’s looks, and spends, what he borrows, kindly in your company.
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. I know it well, fir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers: for it appears, by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.
Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more: here comes my father.
Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Val. My lord, I will be thankful
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
Duke. Hath he not a fon?
. Ay, my good lord, a son that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well ?
Val. I know him as myself; for from our infancy We have convers’d, and spent our hours together : And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
Val. Should I have wilh'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth :
Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis’d them
. Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you?
Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:
Val. Welcome, dear Protheus ! mistress, I beseech you,
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability: Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed:
Pro. I'll die on him that says so but yourself.
father would speak with you.
have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exe. Sil. and Thu. SCENE VII. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours?