CW: anti-semitism

LANCE            Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.

SPEED ’Tis well that I get it so. But Lance, how sayst thou that my master is become a notable lover?

LANCE I never knew him otherwise.

SPEED Than how?

LANCE A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

SPEED Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak’st me.

LANCE Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.

SPEED I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

LANCE Why, I tell thee I care not, though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse. If not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.

SPEED Why?

LANCE Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

SPEED            At thy service.

Exeunt             (2.5.30-45)

 

You don’t think I’m going to tell you something like that straight out, do you? Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. Speed isn’t phased: ’tis well I get it so. All good. But Lance, how sayst thou that my master is become notable lover? This is a bit of a transformation! A lover? (said, possibly, with an exaggerated accent of some kind, probably French?) Lance’s reply is oblique: I never knew him otherwise. What? Valentine? Than how? A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Ah, back to the quibbling; lubber is fool, lout, idiot. Speed’s incensed at this insult to his master: why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak’st me. You’re being deliberately obtuse, willfully misunderstanding me, you rogue. Lance continues to do the same thing: oh I wasn’t talking about you, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. The insult was for Valentine, not you! I tell thee, retorts Speed, my master is become a hot lover. Hot here is super-keen, passionate, enthusiastic—with the zeal of a convert, perhaps—rather than super sexy, alas.

But Lance is unmoved. (What is Crab doing? It doesn’t matter, that is the joy of Crab, the dog remains himself.) Why, I tell thee, I care not, though he burn himself in love. So what? what difference does it make to me, what kind of lover your master is? (And the burn of love might be that of a sexually transmitted disease.) If thou wilt—if you can be bothered—go with me to the alehouse. Pub? If not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of Christian: Lance employs a familiar anti-semitic slur to suggest that Speed would be unkind and miserly if he were not to go to the pub with Lance. Why? Speed is baffled. (Or else resigned to playing the straight man until the end of the scene.) Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? Enough of all this, do me a favour, and come with me to the pub (and buy me a drink)? At thy service, is the only possible response that Speed can make.

A pointless scene? Well, scope for more comedy with the unmoved Crab—and Lance and Speed—and a reminder again of Valentine’s conversion to the cause of love. And a buffer between the previous scene, with Silvia, Valentine, and Proteus, and the next…