LANCE            He lives not now that knows me to be in love – yet I am in love, but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who ’tis I love – and yet ’tis a woman, but what woman, I will not tell myself. And yet –’tis a milkmaid. – Yet, ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips – yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian.            (3.1.259-265)

The scene here takes an unexpected turn, as Lance decides to confide in the audience. He lives not now that knows me to be in love—it’s a secret, who would ever think it?—yet I am in love. I am. But a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, no, nor wild horses either, not saying a word, you won’t get a thing out of me—and certainly not who ’tis I love. My lips are sealed. And yet ’tis a woman, alright, I’ll admit that much—but what woman, I will not tell myself. That at least is staying a secret. Totally. And yet—’tis a milkmaid. I can say that much. But, I guess—point of clarification, now I’ve started: yet, ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips. She’s not an actual technical virgin; actually, she’s got a kid. At least one kid. (Gossips described women who gathered together at a woman’s lying in after childbirth, originally from god-sib, the same sense of relationship as godparent. They were associated with revelry and indiscretion.) Yet, technically, too, ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid, and serves for wages. (Servescould have a sexual sense, suggesting that she is in fact a prostitute.) She’s a maidservant, that’s her job (a quick clarification, which doesn’t really clarify). So, yes, she’s a maid. And, she hath more qualities than a water-spaniel—there’s so much I could say about her, so much to praise in her, even more than there would be about a gun dog, a really fine fowling breed. And that is much in a bare Christian—so much to say, so many qualities to praise, just in a single, ordinary (and here, possibly bare-naked) woman.

What is Crab the dog doing? Unmoved? Distracted? Lance can go off into his own little reverie as he reveals each new bit—cross with himself, or else unable to help himself in spilling the beans. The idea that she’s better even than a water-spaniel is bathetic, but there’s scope, if the dog appearing as Crab is even the least bit trained to react to commands, for his little ears to prick up—is this unnamed woman better even than Crab? Surely not. (There is no way of knowing if Crab is a water-spaniel but he is much more likely to be a mongrel.) But she is, apparently, the superior of another imaginary dog. The dog remains himself, the one and only.