Enter Launcelot.
Laun. Bless me master; look up, Sir, I beseech ye,
Up with your eyes to heaven.
Seb. Up with your nose, Sir,
I do not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me,
A plaguey mankind Girl, how my [brain] totters?
Well, go thy ways, thou hast got one thousand pound more
With this dog trick,
Mine own true spirit in her too.
Laun. In her? alas Sir,
Alas poor Gentlewom[a]n, she a hand so heavy,
To knock ye like a Calf down, or so brave a courage
To beat her father? if you could believe, Sir.
Seb. Who would'st thou make me believe it was, the Devil?
Laun. One that spits fire as fast as he sometimes, Sir,
And changes shapes as often; your Son Thomas;
Never wonder, if it be not he, straight hang me.
Seb. He? if it be so,
I'll put thee in my Will, and there's an end on't.
Laun. I saw his legs, h'as Boots on like a Player,
Under his wenches cloaths, 'tis he, 'tis Thomas
In his own Sisters Cloaths, Sir, and I can wast him.
Seb. No more words then, we'll watch him, thou'lt not believe Launce,
How heartily glad I am.