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How like a younger or a prodigall,
Lor. Lorenzo and thy loue.
lef. Lorenzo certaine and my loue indeed,
lef.Here,catch this Casket,tis worth the paines,
Lor.Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Tel.What,mult I hold a Candle to my shames,
Lor.So are you sweete,
Doth play the run-away,
lef.I will make fast the doores, and guilding Celfe With some mo ducats, and be with you straight.
Grat. Now by my hood, a Gentile and no lcw.
Lor.Beshrew me but I loue her hartily,
Ant.Fic,fic Gratiano, where are all the reft?
Enter Portia with Morrocho, and boshtbeir traies,
Por, Goc;draw aside the Curtaines, and discouer,
Mor. The first of gold,who this inscription beares,
gone to heauen.
Gob. Your worships friend, and Lancelet fir.
Lan. But I pray you ergo olde inan, ergo I beseech you, talke you of yong Ň. Lancelet.
Gob, Of Lancelet an't please your mastership,
Lan. Ergo master Lancelet, talke not of inailter Lancelet Father; for the yong Gentleman according to fates and deftinics, and such odd sayings, the tisters three, and such braunches of learning, is indeed deceased, or as you would lay in plain terms,
Gob. Marry God forbid, the boy was the veric staffe of my age, my very prop.
Lance. Dollooke like a cudgellor a houell poste, a staffe, or a prop: do you knowine Father. Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong
you not yong Gentleman, buc I pray you tell mee, is my boy (GOD reft his soule), aliúe or dead.
Lance. Do you not know me Father?
Lan. Nay, in deede if you had your eyes you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knowes his own child. Well, oldeinan, I will tell you newes of your sonne, giuc ince your blessing; Truech will come to light, Murther cannot be hidde long, a mans sonnc may, but at the length trueth will
Gobbo. Pray you fir stand vp, I am sure you are not Launcelet
Lance. Pray you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue me your blessing; I am Lancelot your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
Gob. I cannot thinke you are my sonne.
Lance. I know not what I shall thinke of that, but I am Lancelet the lews man, and I am sure Margery
, your wife is my mother.
Gob. Her name is Margery indeede, ile be sworne if thou bec Lancelet, thou are mine owncflesh and blood: Lord worship
might he be, what a beard haft thou got? thou hast got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my pilhorse has on his tale.
Lan. It should seeme then that Dobbins tailc growes backward. I am sure he had more haire of his tayle then I haue of my face, when I last saw him.
Gob. Lord how art thou chang’d: how does chou and thy Mafter agrec? I haue brought him a present; how agree you
Lance. Well, well, but for mine owne parejas I haue (et vp my rest to runne away, so I will not rett till Thaue run fome ground; My master's a very lew, giuc him a present,giuc him a halter, I am famishțin his feruice. You may cell cuery finger I haue with my ribs : Father I am glad you are come, giue me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed giues rare new liueries, if I ferue not him, I will runne as farre as God has any ground. O rare fortunc, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a lew if I serue the lew any longer:
Enter Bassanio with a follower or two. Baff. You may doe so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the fartheft by fiuc of the clocke: see these Letters deliuered, put the Lyueries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Exit one of his men.
Lance. Not a poore boy fir, but the rich Iewes iman that wold, firgas my father shall specific.
Gob. He hath a great infe&tion fır, as one would say co ferue.
Lance.Indeed the short and the long is, I serue the lew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specific.
Gob.His Master and he (fauing your worships rcucrence) are. scarle catercofins..
Lan. To be briefe, the very truth is that the low having don me wrong, doth cause me as my Father, being I hope, an olde man, shall frucific vnto you.
Gob.l haue hecre a dish of Doues that I would be tow vpon your worship: and my futeis.com
Lan. In very briefe, the sute is impertinent to my felfe, as your worship Thal know by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man,yet poore man my father.
Baff. One speake for both, what would you?
Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy fute,
Lan. The old Prouerbe is very well parted between my mafter Shylock and you fir, You haue the grace of God fir, and hee hath enough.
Bass. Thou speakft it well. Go Father with thy fonne,
Lan, Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I ha nere a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy haue
a fairer cable which doth offer to sweare vppon a bookc, I shall haue good fortune. Go too, heere's a simple line of life, here's a smal trifle of wiucs: Alas, fiftcene wiues is nothing, elčuen VViddowes and nine maids, is a fimple comming in for one man, and then to escape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of å feather-bed, hcere are fimple scapes: well, if Fortune bec a woman, shee's a good wench for this geere. Father, comc, ile take my lcauc of the lew in the ewinkling of an eye.