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Modern English
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 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, sit, 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.
No, it’ll be another hour before I stop crying; every Launce in the family has this same problem. I got my fair share of tears, like the big sinner’s son, and I’m heading to the Emperor’s court with Sir Proteus. I think Crab, my dog, is the grumpiest dog alive: my mom’s crying, my dad’s wailing, my sister’s sobbing, our maid’s yelling, our cat’s wringing her paws, and the whole house is in chaos, yet this heartless mutt didn’t shed a single tear: he’s a rock, just a tiny pebble, and has as much sympathy as a dog: even a Jew would’ve cried at our goodbye; why, my grandmother, who couldn’t even see, cried herself blind when I left. No, let me show you how it went. This shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father: no, no, this left shoe is my mother: wait, that can’t be right either: yes, it is, it is, it has the worse sole. This shoe with the hole is my mother, and this one’s my father; curses on it! There it is: now, sit, this staff is my sister, because, you see, she’s as white as a lily and as thin as a stick: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog: no, the dog is the dog, and I am the dog—Oh! the dog is me, and I am the dog; yes, yes, exactly. Now I come to my father; Father, your blessing: now the shoe should start crying: now I should kiss my father; but no, he keeps crying. Now I go to my mother: oh, I wish she could speak like a poor woman! Well, I kiss her; there it is; this is my mother’s breath going up and down. Now I come to my sister; listen to the mourning she makes. All this time, the dog hasn’t shed a tear or said a word; but see how I’m making a mess with my tears.
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’ll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
Launce, come on, come on, get on board! Your master’s already on the ship, and you need to row after him. What’s wrong? Why are you crying, man? Come on, fool! You’ll miss the tide if you wait any longer.
It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
It doesn’t matter if I miss the tide; because it’s the cruelest tide that anyone’s ever missed.
What’s the unkindest tide?
What do you mean, the cruelest tide?
Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog.
I mean the one that’s tied up here, Crab, my dog.
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?
Nonsense, man, I mean you’ll miss the tide, and by missing the tide, you’ll miss your trip, and by missing your trip, you’ll lose your master, and by losing your master, you’ll lose your job, and by losing your job—Why are you interrupting me?
For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
Because I’m afraid you’ll lose your tongue.
Where should I lose my tongue?
Where would I lose my tongue?
In thy tale.
In your story.
In thy tail!
In my tail!
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.
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.
Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
Come on, come on, man; I was sent to call you.
Sir, call me what thou darest.
Sir, call me whatever you want.
Wilt thou go?
Are you going?
Well, I will go.
Fine, I will go.