When a man’s servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, ’thus I would teach a dog.’ I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon’s leg: O, ’tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for’t; sure as I live, he had suffered for’t; you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs under the duke’s table: he had not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. ’Out with the dog!’ says one: ’What cur is that?’ says another: ’Whip him out’ says the third: ’Hang him up’ says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: ’Friend,’ quoth I, ’you mean to whip the dog?’ ’Ay, marry, do I,’ quoth he. ’You do him the more wrong,’ quoth I; ’’twas I did the thing you wot of.’ He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I’ll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for’t. Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman’s farthingale? didst thou ever see me do such a trick?
When a man’s servant behaves like a dog with him, it’s hard to bear: one I raised from a pup; one I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind siblings drowned. I taught him just as you would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him as a gift to Mistress Silvia from my master; and as soon as I walked into the dining room, he jumps onto her plate and steals the leg of her capon. Oh, it’s a disgrace when a dog can’t behave in polite company! I would have preferred, as people say, that a dog be a dog in every way. If I didn’t have more sense than him, to take the blame for something he did, I truly think he would have been hanged for it; I swear he would’ve suffered for it. You’ll see. He threw himself among three or four gentlemanly dogs under the duke’s table. He hadn’t been there—a second, I swear—before the whole room smelled him. “Get the dog out!” says one. “What dog is that?” says another. “Whip him out!” says the third. “Hang him!” says the duke. I, having smelled that scent before, knew it was Crab, and went to the guy who whips the dogs. “Friend,” I said, “you’re going to whip the dog?” “Yes, I am,” he said. “You’re doing him an injustice,” I said; “I’m the one who did the thing you’re talking about.” He didn’t argue with me, just whipped me out of the room. How many masters would do that for their servant? I swear, I’ve been put in the stocks for puddings he stole, or else he would’ve been executed. I’ve stood in the pillory for geese he killed, or else he would’ve suffered for it. You don’t think about these things now. I still remember the trick you played on me when I said goodbye to Madam Silvia: didn’t I tell you to watch me and do as I do? When did you see me raise my leg and pee against a lady’s skirt? Did you ever see me do such a thing?
Launce · Act 4, Scene 4
Launce has spent the entire scene defending his dog Crab from punishment, taking beatings himself and lying to spare the dog's life, and now he's recounting his suffering with comic pride. The monologue matters because Launce's loyalty to a thoughtless creature is more genuine than any of the gentlemen's promises to each other. It tells us that true constancy is found not in words but in action, and often in the most unexpected places.
