William Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 2 Scene 3

                                   SCENE III. A street in Milan.       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 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.       Enter PANTHINO PANTHINO       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       It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the       unkindest tied that ever any man tied. PANTHINO       What's the unkindest tide? LAUNCE       Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog. PANTHINO       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? LAUNCE       For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. PANTHINO       Where should I lose my tongue? LAUNCE       In thy tale. PANTHINO       In thy tail! LAUNCE       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. PANTHINO       Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. LAUNCE       Sir, call me what thou darest. PANTHINO       Wilt thou go? LAUNCE       Well, I will go.       Exeunt