—Boy, harkye,—there is a certain kindness
You may do me, and get your pardon for being found here.
Clo. You shall command me any thing.
Lor. Prithee how long hast thou been set up for thy self, Hah?
Clo. As how, Sir?
Lor. Poh, thou understand’st me.
Clo. Indeed I do not, Sir; what is’t you mean?
Lor. A smooth-fac’d Boy, and ask such a Question?
Fy, fy, this Ignorance was ill counterfeited
To me that understand the World.