Enter Lance with his dog Crab.
LANCE.
Nay, ’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the
Lances 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 sourest-natured 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
pebblestone, 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 Pantino.
PANTINO.
Lance, away, away! Aboard! Thy master is shipped, 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 longer.
LANCE.
It is no matter if the tied were lost, for it is the unkindest tied
that ever any man tied.
PANTINO.
What’s the unkindest tide?
LANCE.
Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog.
PANTINO.
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?
LANCE.
For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
PANTINO.
Where should I lose my tongue?
LANCE.
In thy tale.
PANTINO.
In thy tail!
LANCE.
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.
PANTINO.
Come, come away, man. I was sent to call thee.
LANCE.
Sir, call me what thou dar’st.
PANTINO.
Will thou go?
LANCE.
Well, I will go.
[_Exeunt._]