PROTEUS But she received my dog?
LANCE No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again.
PROTEUS What, didst thou offer her this from me?
LANCE Ay, sir. The other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman’s boys in the marketplace, and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.
PROTEUS Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,
Or ne’er return again into my sight.
Away, I say! Stay’st thou to vex me here?
[Exit Lance]
A slave, that still on end turns me to shame. (4.4.39-48)
Proteus is confused: but she received my dog? you gave her the dog and she accepted it, yes? No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again. Noooo, she absolutely didn’t, says Lance, look, here he is! Right here! Proteus cannot believe it, first that Lance didn’t manage to present Silvia with whatever dinky little pedigree lapdog he’d procured—presumably at vast expense—for the purpose, and second that he thought that Crab (lovely, lovely Crab, almost certainly not dinky, or pedigree) was an adequate substitute. What, didst thou offer her this from me? (Whatever Crab does at this point—outrage, big sad eyes, total unconcern, continuing to flirt with Julia—will be perfect.)
Lance can’t see that there’s anything wrong with what he’s done; in fact, he’s both pleased with his initiative and insulted on Crab’s behalf that Silvia rejected him. Ay, sir, I absolutely did. The other squirrel—spat out with contempt, perhaps, the dinky dog, would barely fill a handbag—was stolen from me by the hangman’s boys in the marketplace (brief, disturbing vision of small rodent-like dog being mocked and snatched)—and then I offered her mine own—wasn’t that clever of me? wasn’t that quick thinking? (Crab might look a bit put out at his master’s pride and speed here.) My dog, after all, is a dog as big as ten of yours—a proper dog, not a rat-sized accessory—and therefore the gift the greater. A much better present, surely you must agree, simply on the grounds of scale! More dog! BETTER dog!
Proteus can’t believe it, can barely control himself, but doesn’t want to lose it completely in front of this new pageboy. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again—go away right now and find the little dog!—or ne’er return again into my sight. Find the dog, or don’t come back. Away, I say! Go on, get out! Stay’st thou to vex me here? Are you doing this on purpose to annoy me? Lance is just not hurrying, and besides, he’s got to extricate Crab from whatever Crab’s up to—after all, he’s still got his dog. Proteus tries to regain his cool, and his authority, to ‘Sebastian’: he’s a slave, that still on end turns me to shame. He’s no one, the lowest of the low, and he’s always just such an embarrassment. Not like you, huh?