Shakespeare's wit and humour

Preface

In preparing this work, the aim has been to gather into a single volume, of convenient size and inviting print, such of Shakespeare's wit and humour as may with pleasure and satisfaction be read in the form of extracts, each connected in proper order with the story of the play from which it is taken. The matter selected is not dependent upon mere situation, plot or mistakes of identity, to afford enjoyment, but so far as has seemed desirable, the plot of each drama drawn upon has been briefly told, in order to throw light upon the chosen text and make the characters better understood and appreciated. Relatively large space h?s been devoted to Falstaff, as the crowning achievement of Shakespeare's comic genius.

Occasional omissions or breaks in the excerpts have been found desirable or unavoidable, for various reasons, and are denoted by dots; thus, . . . Crossness and indelicacies, which the manners and customs of the play-wright's

S

PREFACE day allowed, or even relished and expected, in stage productions, have been excluded, the intention being to make the book as well suited to the young as to any other class of readers. But no words have been changed or Interpolated, nor have any other liberties been taken with the text. In most cases the matter omitted relates merely to the action, or otherwise is unsuited to the scope of the work.

The fun of Shakespeare is scattered with lavish hand broadcast through the comedies, but in the tragedies and most of the historical plays it Is either scanty or entirely absent. Perhaps not more than one-twentieth part of the mass of his dramatic writings may be classed as either witty or humourous, the rest being sentimental, tragic or otherwise serious. Even of the comedies much is purely sentiment, recital or incident, rather than gaiety. So to many persons not familiar with his plays, and yet with a liking for good, amusing literature, this book of selections, with helpful analysis, narrative and comment, should prove convenient and profitable. The author hopes it often may serve, especially in the case of youthful readers, as a pleasant introduction to a comprehensive study

PREFACE and appreciation of the Shakespearian dramas In their entirety. And as the master poet and dramatist is unequalled In entertainment, a carefully chosen, copious and fully representative collection of his wit and humour scarcely can fail to afford delight to Intelligent minds open to mirthful Influences.

William A. Lawson.

SHAKESPEARE'S WIT AND

HUMOUR

The pre-eminence of Shakespeare as a dramatist and poet is due no less to his astonishing versatiHty than to the greatness of his powers. No other dramatic author has shown so wide a range of genius. \ Ancient Greece had poets who never have been surpassed in tragedy, but none who, like the author of " Macbeth," " Othello,'' " Henry IV," " As You Like It," " A Midsummer Night's Dream," and " The Tempest," exhibited supreme mastery alike in tragedy, comedy, and the realm of fancy. Shakespeare touched with equal ease the sublime and the ridiculous, his love of ftjn and infinite command of wit and humour being no less remarkable than his poetic fancy, profound insight into human nature, and matchless gifts of expression.

While it is only to his wit and humour that this book in the main relates, yet blended with what is witty or humourous is much of what is most beautiful in poetry, most charming in fancy, tenderest in sentiment, and wisest in philosophy of life. So to present from his many plays what appropriately may be gathered under the title of the present volume is to exhibit not only the most admirable and varied wit and delightful humour, but also a great fund of knowledge of human nature, charming felicity of diction, unapproachable powers of characterisation, and the most captivating flights of imagination.

Shakespeare was both a great wit and a great humourist. But how shall wit and humour be distinguished? It is not uncommon in literature to find them confused, and some noted writers have undertaken to define humour as certain forms of wit, which tends to make confusion worse confounded.

It is first to be remarked that wit is always purely a mental quality, and, unlike humour, can never arise from merely physical objects, or things seen. Thus a stage scene or situation may be intensely humourous, as where FalstafI feigns death on the battlefield, but can never be witty. '

The differences between wit and humour are numerous, but neither quality can well be bounded by a precise definition. Wit is often cruel, while true humour is never unkind. Wit may be likened to the flash of the lightning; humour to the genial warmth of the sun. The humourist is always sympathetic, and many great humourous writers, such as Charles Dickens, invoke tears as well as smiles and laughter, often combining the ludicrous with the pathetic. So Thackeray, in speaking of the " tender humour '' of Dickens, calls humour " a mixture of love and wit." This may not be a very good definition, but it serves to direct attention to kindness as an essential element of humour.

A good distinction between wit and humour is made in Professor Henry Reed's " Lectures on English Literature," in which he says:

" Wit, I think, may be regarded as a purely intellectual process, while humour Is a sense of the ridiculous controlled by feeling, and coexistent often with the gentlest and deepest pathos."

Another difference, to use an apt saying from Shakespeare, Is that " brevity Is the soul of wit," while the effect of humour Is often helght-

II ened by amplification. This is a fortunate thing for those professional humourists of the present day who are paid by the number of words or lines, or by the page or column.

De Quincey goes so far as to say that humour is of a diffusive quality, while wit is concentrated within a few words. But this, although generally true, is not always the case.

Sydney Smith, in one of his essays, describes wit as the discovery of an unexpected relation between ideas, implying superior intelligence and exciting no other emotion than surprise. He seems to have overlooked the element of pleasure, without which there can scarcely be wit. But the pleasure is not usually shared by the object or victim of a witticism, however keenly it may be enjoyed by others.

The famous divine considered puns to be merely the wit of words, consisting in the discovery of surprising verbal relations. But he pointed out that sometimes a pun is so superior as to redeem its species, instancing the case of a schoolboy who persisted in pronouncing " patriarchs '* " partridges," thus giving some one opportunity to say the lad was making game of the patriarchs. On the whole, however,

Sydney Smith regarded puns as a low order of wit, and " deservedly in bad repute."

According to the same entertaining author, the essence of humour is incongruity which creates a sense of surprise and no other emotion. If, for example, he says, sympathy be aroused, the sense of humour disappears.

But this is by no means an invariable rule. Consider, for instance, the singular blending of humour and pathos in the account of Falstaff's death by PistoFs wife (Dame Quickly) in " Henry V," wherein she says :

" Nay, sure, he's not in hell; he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. . . . Now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet," etc.

It is to be observed that the incongruity which causes mirth may be merely physical, as when a pompous and carefully attired person excites laughter by slipping on an icy sidewalk and waving his arms wildly as he falls, uninjured. Of the same order of humour is buffoonery, such as the antics of a circus clown, and likewise mimicry, which is always directed to personal peculiarities or defects of some

kind.

Prof. R. G. Moulton has called humour the " human interest In the ludicrous.'* It may lie In situation, in accident, or in acts, but wit is always verbal.

An element of sympathy always may be discerned In Shakespeare's humour, and It is this which serves to distinguish it from cold satire, such as characterises the writings of Dean Swift. This kindly feeling for human weaknesses and follies, this broad sympathy Is manifest In nearly all the plays. It makes us forget or overlook, for the time being at least, the faults and vices of Falstaff, in our appreciation of the pleasure he affords us by his unfailing gaiety.

But Falstaff Is more witty than humourous, although rich In both quahties. His humourous sense of the contrast between his own huge bulk and his diminutive page Is shown when he addresses him Ironically as "you giant," and says :

" I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee Into my service for any better reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment."

On the other hand, Falstaff's replies to the Chief Justice sparkle with wit. When, for example, the jurist said to him, " God send the prince a better companion," the ready retort was, '* God send the companion a better prince."

It has been said that a humourist Is always witty, but that a wit may not be at all humorous. Accordingly we find a number of Shakespeare's characters both witty and humourous, and some showing wit without humour. Yet others exhibit humour without wit.

Again there are characters, such as Dogberry, Bottom, and Malvollo, who are destitute of either quality, and still a source of vast and unfailing entertainment. The constable arouses the liveliest mirth by his pompous Ignorance and self-importance. Bottom by his blundering dulness and simplicity, and Olivia's steward by his exceeding vanity and arrogant pretensions.

In the same witless category may be placed Justice Shallow and Slender, who are among the most amusing of all the playwright's creations.

It will be observed that to make illiterate persons misuse words and phrases is one of Shakespeare's favourite means of furnishing entertainment, as Illustrated by Dogberry, Bottom, Mistress Quickly, Launcelot Gobbo, Pistol, and other characters. Perhaps Dame Quickly's ludicrous verbal blunders may have given Sheridan the hint for his scarcely less famous Mrs. Malaprop.

The villainous and subtle lago has a keen, cynical wit, but, being wholly lacking in sympathy, he shows no trace of humour. His wit and intellectual power would be more often remarked and admired were not his character so malevolent and detestable. Note his opinion of women:

" — You are pictures out of doors,

Bells in your parlours, wild cats In your kitchens,

Saints in your injuries, devils being offended."

A very different sort of wit is that of Rosalind, the heroine of " As You Like It," one of the most charming and lovable of Shakespeare's women. It bubbles forth in its sparkling freshness and purity like the water of a mountain spring, spontaneous, constant, and delightful. It Is so amiable as to partake some-

i6 what of the nature of humour. Her wit is chiefly raillery, exhibited in mock seriousness, but it never inflicts a wound. As displayed to Orlando, it masks a tender, romantic love. There is a characteristic touch of Rosalind's wit in her remark to her almost equally witty friend Celia :

" Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think I must speak."

Still another kind of wit is that of Mercutio, friend of Romeo. It is distinctively masculine, good-humoured, gay, light-hearted, and highly imaginative. Nothing could be richer in fancy or brighter with wit than his well-known lines, beginning:

" Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you — **

in which he speaks of a soldier, frighted from his sleep, who " swears a prayer or two, and sleeps again."

Mercutio is so rare a character that every reader of " Romeo and Juliet " must regret his " untimely taking off," in the third act of the play.

The wit of Portia, in " The Merchant of Venice," as displayed in her criticism of her suitors, is of a frolicsome and mocking nature. It is no less bright than Rosalind's, and is coupled with rare discernment and grace of diction. One of the most quoted lines from our great author is her summary of Monsieur Le Bon :

** God made him, and therefore let him pass

a man.'

for "

Satire is the distinguishing quality of Biron, in " Love's Labour's Lost," exhibited in his ridicule of the tender passion and of other persons of the play. His is the oft-quoted saying:

" Small have continual plodders ever won. Save base authority from others' books."

Even more satirical than Biron, and also exceedingly witty, are both Beatrice and Benedick In " Much Ado About Nothing."

The jester In "King Lear" is a "bitter fool," whose wit Is of the sharpest, but yet of a pathetic quality, because of his manifest devotion to his fallen master. It is this character who likens " nothing " to " the breath of

i8 an unfed lawyer," and tells of the man who, " in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.''

A peculiar sort of morbid humour is that of " the melancholy Jacques," in " As You Like It." Among the most familiar and most frequently quoted passages in the plays are his lines beginning,

" All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players."

This picturesque and striking view of man's progress from the cradle to the grave is commonly assumed to be Shakespeare's own. But when analysed it is seen to be highly cynical, making life appear rather a vain and empty thing. The ideas are highly characteristic of Jacques, but not of the poet's genial and noble philosophy, as gathered from his works in general. Jacques is a misanthrope, who finds little good in mankind and nothing much in the world to please him. But his strange humour and superior intellect make him an interesting character and his sayings memorable.

In marked contrast with Jacques is Touchstone, the professional jester in the same play, whose humour Is of a natural and good-natured sort. He Is one of the cleverest of the dramatist's " fools," and there Is much wisdom in his foolery. As the banished Duke says of him, *' He uses his folly like a stalking horse, and, under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit."

The same remark applies to all Shakespeare's '' fools " or " clowns."

Two other forms of humour appear in " The Taming of the Shrew." The capricious, mad humour of Petruchio, who breaks the unruly, termagant spirit of Katharine by the exercise of a domineering will, under show of kindness, is highly ironical. And his apparel is no less fantastic than his humour.

Drollery distinguishes the humour of Grumlo, Petruchlo's servant, a most comical fellow, full of an antic, mischievous spirit. One of his peculiarities is illustrated when he tantalises the hungry Katharine by offering her " the mustard without the beef," and so provokes her to beat him.

The Ironical humour of Hamlet is of a high and philosophic order, tinged with sadness. It is always gentle, and cloaked under an appearance of seriousness: he never openly jests. There Is occasionally a touch of satire In It, as In his replies to Polonlus and his Instructions to the players. The best of his humour appears in his discourse with Horatio and the grave-diggers, In which the noble prince moralises upon mortality, suggesting that Caesar's clay " may stop some hole to keep the wind away," and that the dust of Alexander may do the same office for a bunghole.

There are numerous other personages In the plays — including Autolycus in " The Winter's Tale," and the two Dromios In " The Comedy of Errors," — who are more or less witty or humourous, but it is needless to make particular mention of them here. Added to the more prominent above noted, they complete a long and wonderful procession of clearly defined characters, of which no two are alike. In nothing is Shakespeare's genius for characterisation more strikingly displayed than In his comic creations, such as Falstaff, and those roles of a grave or tragic sort which yet occasionally relax Into entertainment, as In the case of Hamlet, whose rare humour helps to endear him to all hearts.

Some of the poet's earlier comedies, such as " Love's Labour's Lost " and *' The Two Gentlemen of Verona," teem with puns and jesting quibbles. It must be admitted that many of these plays upon words are an inferior sort of wit. But In this Shakespeare merely followed the fashion of his time, which ran to all sorts of verbal conceits and trivialities, then much heard and admired In all ranks of society, from the court of Queen Elizabeth down to the lowest orders. Pope overlooked this custom In his strictures upon the dramatist's use of puns and other verbal subtleties as low and trifling.

In the later plays, puns and quibbles are relatively rare, and the wit is almost entirely that of the relations between Ideas, not merely verbal resemblances.

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

" The Two Gentlemen of Verona " is believed to have been based upon a Spanish play of an earlier period, having a similar story.

Proteus and Valentine dwell in Verona and are close friends. Valentine goes to Milan, where he pays court to Silvia, daughter of the Duke of Milan. Thither, after a time, Proteus is sent by his father, against his own inclination, for he is very much enamoured of Julia, a lady of Verona. But Proteus no sooner sees Silvia than he conceives a passion for her, and treacherously aims to win her from his friend Valentine, abandoning his former love for Julia.

The duke is bent on marrying his daughter to one Thurio, and Valentine plans an elopement, of which Proteus warns her father. The elopement is prevented, and Valentine is banished by the indignant duke. Proteus then pretends to aid Thurio, but secretly presses his own suit to Silvia, who scornfully repels him and reproaches him for his treachery. She ventures forth, in the company of a friend, to seek Valentine, who has fallen into the hands of outlaws, banished gentlemen like himself, and has agreed to become their leader.

Meanwhile the forlorn Julia has repaired to Milan in the disguise of a youth, and enters the service of Proteus, whose perfidy she thus discovers. But she still conceals her identity, under the name of Sebastian, and remains faithful to him. Together they depart from Milan to seek Silvia, and they find her in the forest inhabited by the outlaws. Being again repulsed by Silvia, Proteus threatens her with violence, and is overheard by Valentine, who rescues her and denounces him. Proteus makes quick repentance and is as quickly forgiven by Valentine. Julia then reveals herself, and the old love of Proteus is revived. The duke comes in search of his daughter, pardons Valentine, and bestows her hand upon him. And so the play ends happily.

" The Two Gentlemen of Verona " is doubtless one of the earliest, if not the first, of Shakespeare's plays. It has much humour, but most of it is of a quality inferior to that of his later comedies. The fashion of the age ran greatly to verbal quibbles, and wit was considered to lie in ingenious juggling with words. The dramatist merely followed custom in this regard, but in doing so incurred the reproach of some modern critics.

Usage in the Elizabethan period required the introduction of a court fool or clown, in compositions for the stage, and in the present piece this conventional requirement is met by the substitution of servants, Launce and Speed, as fun-makers.

The play opens in Verona, with an exchange of friendly sentiment between Proteus and Valentine. Proteus seeks to dissuade his friend from going to Milan, and Valentine replies:

Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus; Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Pro, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

VaL And on a love-book pray for my success.

Pro, Upon some book I love Fll pray for thee.

Val, That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

Pro, That's a deep story of a deeper love; For he was more than over shoes in love. Val, 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Pro, Over the boots! nay, give me not the

boots.

Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. Pro, ^ ^ What?

Val, To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading

moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; If lost, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit. Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro, 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.

Val, Love is your master, for he masters you: And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.

Pro, Yet writers say, As in the sweetest

The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. And writers say, As the most forward bud \ Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime. And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee That art a votary to fond desire ? Once more adieu.

Valentine departs and Speed, his servant, enters.

Proteus. Gav'st thou my letter to Julia? Speed. Ay, sir.

• •••••

Pro. But what said she? did she nod?

Speed. [^Nodding. ^ Ay.

Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that's noddy.

Speed, You mistook, sir; I say she did nod: and you ask me if she did nod; and I say. Ay.

Pro. And that set together is — noddy.

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains.

Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly: having nothing but the word noddy for my pains.

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

Speed, And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Pro. Come, come; open the matter In brief: what said she?

Speed. Open your pnrse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered.

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : what said she?

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter: and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you In telling her mind. Give her no token but stones ; for she's as hard as steel.

Pro. What! said she nothing?

Speed. No, not so much as — Take this for thy pains.

The scene changes and a dialogue occurs between Julia and Lucetta, her waiting-woman.

Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me,

In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

• •••••

What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns

in us !

Jul, How now ! what means this passion at

his name?

Luc, Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing

shame That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? Luc. Then thus : of many good I think him

best.

Jul. Your reason?

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; I think him so, because I think him so.

Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love

on him?

Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast

away.

Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never

moved me.

Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best

loves ye.

Jul. His little speaking shows his love but

small.

Luc. Fire that is closest kept burns most of

all.

Jul. They do not love that do not show

their love.

Luc. O, they love least that let men know

their love.

Jul. I would I knew his mind.

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam.

l^Gives a letter.

Julia takes the love-letter, which Lucetta says she thinks Is from Proteus, and, pretending to be angry, gives It back to Lucetta, to be returned, and dismisses her summarily.

Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the

letter.

It were a shame to call her back again. And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What fool Is she, that knows I am a maid. And would not force the letter to my view? Since maids. In modesty, say No to that Which they would have the profferer construe

Ay.

Fie, fie ! how wayward Is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse. And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. When willingly I would have had her here ! How angrily I taught my brow to frown. When Inward joy enforced my heart to smile! My penance Is to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past : — What, ho I Lucetta ?

Re-enter Lucetta.

Luc. What would your ladyship?

Jul. Is it near dinner time?

Luc, I would it were;

That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid.

Julia, still professing unconcern, contrives to recover the letter, and, having read It, tears It and throws it down. Lucetta retires, remarking, aside:

. . . she would be best pleased To be so angered with another letter.

Julia then confesses to herself her love for Proteus, kissing each piece of paper for amends.

The succeeding act finds Valentine and Speed In Milan.

Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?

Speed. She that your worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ?

Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a mal-content; to relish a lovesong, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A B C ; to weep, like a young wench that had burled her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, hke one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money; and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.

• •••••

Veil, But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?

Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean.

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not?

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir?

Val. Not so fair, boy, as v/ell favoured.

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.

Val. What dost thou know?

Speed. That she is not so fair as (of you) well favoured.

Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

Speed. That's because the one is painted and the other out of all count.

Val. How painted? and how out of count.

Speed, Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.

VaL How esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.

Val. How long hath she been deformed?

Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful.

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.

Val. Why?

Speed. Because love is blind.

• •••••

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love: for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed; I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

A later scene introduces Launce, servant to Proteus, upon a street in Verona, leading his dog.

Laun. 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 Imperlars court. I think Crab my dog to 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, Fll 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, 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, — O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; Father J 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.