fhoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance on't, there 'tis: now, Sir, this staff is my filter; for, look you, fhe is as white. as a lily, and as finall as a wand; this hat is Nan our maid; I ain the dog; no,. the dog is himself,. and I am the dog: oh, the dog is me, and I am myfelf; ay, fo, fo; now come I to my father; father, your bleffing; now fhould not the fhoe fpeak a word for weeping; now thould I kifs my father; well, he weeps on; now come I to my mother; oh that he could speak now (9) like a wood woman! well, I kifs her; why, there 'tis; here's

(9) Like an ould woman!] Thefe mere poetical editors can do nothing towards an emendation, even when 'tis chalked out to their hands. The firft Folios agree in would-woman ;. for which, becaufe it was a mystery to Mr Pope, he has unmeaningly fubftituted ould woman. But it must be writ,

or at leaft understood, wood woman, i. e crazy, frantic with grief, or diftracted from any other caufe. The word is very frequently ufed in Chaucer, and fometimes writ wood, fometimes wode.

What should he study, or make himself wood?

In his character of the Monk,

They told ev'ry man that he was wode,

He was aghafte fo of Noe's flode.

Ast

In his Miller's Tale. And he likewife ufes wodeness för madnefs. Vide Spelman's Saxon Gloffary in the word wed. to the reading in the old editions, would-woman, perhaps this may be a defigned corruption, to make Launce purpofely blunder in the word; as he a little before very humorously calls the prodigal fon, the prodigious fon.---I ought to take notice, that my ingenious friend Mr Warburton fentme up this fame emendation, unknowing that I had already corrected the place.

I had like to have forgot, that wood is a term likewise used by our own l'oet. Midfummer Night's Dream, A&t 2. And here am I, and wood within this wood. Which Mr Pope has there rightly expounded, by mad, wild, raving

And again, Shakespeare in one of his poems, has this line: Then to the woods ftark wood in rage the hies her.

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 fpeaks a word; but fee how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter PANTHION.

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy maler is fhipped, and thou art to poft after with cars. What's the matter? why weepeit thou, man? Away, will lofe the tide if you tarry any longer. Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lot, for it is the unkindeft ty'd that ever any man ty'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide ?

als,

you

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood; and in lofing the flood, lofe thy voyage; and in lofing thy voyage, lofe thy mafter; and in lofing thy mafter, lofe thy fervice; and in lofing thy fervice, -why doft thou stop my mouth?

Laun. For fear thou should'it 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 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 fighs.

Pant. Come, come away, man; I was fent to call thee.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.

Pant. Wilt thou go?

Laun. Well, I will go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Milan.

An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO and SPEED.

Sil. Servant,--

Val. Miftrefs?

Speed Mafter, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.

Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress then.

Speed. Twere good you knocked him.

Sil. Servant, you are fad.

Val. Indeed, Madam, I feem fo.
Thu. Seem you that you are not?
Val. Haply I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

Thu. What feem I, that I am not?"
Val. Wife.

Thu. What inftance of the contrary

Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly?

Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?

Val. Give him leave, Madam; he is a kind of cameleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

Val. You have faid, Sir.

Thu. Ay, Sir, and done too, for this time.

Val. I know it well, Sir; you always end ere you begin.

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly fhot off.

Val. 'Tis, indeed, Madam; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, fervant?

Val. Yourself, fweet Lady, for you gave the fire: Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladyship's looks, and fpends what he borrows kindly in your

company.

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I fhall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, Sir; 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.

Enter the Duke.

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard befet. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: What fay you to a letter from your friends

Of much good news?

Val. My Lord, I will be thankful

To any happy meffenger from thence.

[man?

: Duke. Know you Don Anthonio, your countryVal. Ay, my good Lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth and worthy estimation;

And, not without defert, fo well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a fon?

Val. Ay, my good Lord, a fon that well deferves The honour and regard of fuch a father. ·Duke. You know him well?

Val. I know him as myfelf; for from our infancy. We have convers'd, and spent our hours together; And tho' myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time,

To cloathe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Protheus, for that's his name,
Made ufe and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praifes that I now beltow,).
He is compleat in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke. Befhrew me, Sir, but if he makes this good,
He is as worthy for an emprefs' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, Sir, this gentleman is come to me,
With commendations from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time a while.
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

Val. Should I have wifhed a thing, it had been he
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth:
Silvia, I fpeak to you; and you, Sir Thurio;
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:
I'll fend him hither to you prefently. [Exit Duke.
Val. This is the gentleman I told your Ladyship
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her cryftal looks.

Sil. Belike that now fhe hath enfranchifed them Upon fome other pawn for fealty.

Vai. Nay, fure, I think he holds them pris'ners ftill.

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,

How could he fee his way to feek out you?

Val. Why, Lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They fay that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To fee fuch lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Upon a homely object love can wink.