Launce.
weeping: all the kinde of the Launces, haue this very
Launce. Catte wringing her hands, and all our house in a great
Launce. perplexitie, yet did not this cruellhearted Curre shedde
Launce. one teare: he is a stone, a very pibble stone, and has no
Launce. more pitty in him then a dogge: a Iew would haue wept
Launce. no eyes, look you, wept her selfe blinde at my parting:
Launce. nay, Ile shew you the manner of it. This shooe is my fa
Launce. ther: no, this left shooe is my father; no, no, this left