you are stay'd for.

_Pro._ Go; I come, I come. 20
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [_Exeunt._

Notes: II, 2.

5: [Giving a ring] Rowe.
16: [Exit Julia] Rowe.
20: _I come, I come_] _I come_ Pope.

SCENE III. _The same. A street._

_Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog._

_Launce._ 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 sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother 5
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 10
seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look
you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll shew 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 15
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 20
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; 25
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, 30
and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter?
why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! you'll lose the
tide, if you tarry any longer.

_Launce._ It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is
the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 35

_Pan._ What's the un