LANCE                        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.            (2.3.11-17)

And so Lance proceeds to demonstrate the manner of his leave-taking from his family, their devastation, and Crab the dog’s apparent indifference. First he takes off his shoes, saying this shoe is my father. But he’s not sure—two identical shoes, two different parents? So, No, this left shoe is my father. Then he rethinks, again. No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Hmmmm. Not sure about that either. Not entirely satisfactory. How to differentiate them? Aha! Light-bulb moment. Yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. Soul, geddit (and as editors point out, this reflects the ancient debate over the supposed inferiority of women’s souls). A smile might break through Lance’s earnestness, showing his pleasure at this venerable wordplay—and at this little piece of theatre-making. And—this shoe with a hole in it is my mother, and this my father. (In a way it’s funnier if he doesn’t register the obscenity of the shoe with the hole, or at least only just starts to?) A vengeance on’t, there ’tis. Dammit. Sorted!

Now sir—and he must be addressing Crab the dog? or someone in the audience?—this staff, this walking stick is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand. A moment of sentimental reverie about his pretty sister? And this hat—he’s into his stride now—is Nan our maid, the only one who gets a name. (Is Lance trying to hold both shoes and the staff and the hat? are they laid on the ground? does he keep juggling them?) I am the dog! No, that’s not going to work, that’s missing the whole point of this. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog. No, that’s not right either. O, the dog is me, and I am myself. Is that going to work? Ay, so, so. Got it! Ready! (If Lance has a shoe on each hand then his hands have become feet and he has become a sort-of animal. Crab is, presumably, unmoved, although there’s scope for comedy if he steals a shoe. But the point is, he doesn’t have to act at all. The dog is himself, throughout.)