Trick. Good-morrow, seignior; I like your spirits very well; pray let me have all your essence you can spare.
Limb. Come, Puggio, and let us retire in secreto, like lovers, into our chambro; for I grow impatiento —bon matin, monsieur, bon matin et bon jour.
[Exeunt Limberham and Tricksy.
Wood. Well, get thee gone, 'squire Limberhamo, for the easiest fool I ever knew, next my naunt of fairies in the Alchemist[4]. I have escaped, thanks 033 to my mistress's lingua França: I'll steal to my chamber, shift my perriwig and clothes; and then, with the help of resty Gervase, concert the business of the next campaign. My father sticks in my stomach still; but I am resolved to be Woodall with him, and Aldo with the women.
[Exit.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter Woodall and Gervase.
Wood. Hitherto, sweet Gervase, we have carried matters swimmingly. I have danced in a net before my father, almost check-mated the keeper, retired to my chamber undiscovered, shifted my habit, and am come out an absolute monsieur, to allure the ladies. How sits my chedreux?
Gerv. O very finely! with the locks combed down, like a mermaid's on a sign-post. Well, you think now your father may live in the same house with you till doomsday, and never find you; or, when he has found you, he will be kind enough not to consider what a property you have made of him. My employment is at an end; you have got a better pimp, thanks to your filial reverence.
Wood. Pr'ythee, what should a man do with such a father, but use him thus? besides, he does journey-work under me; 'tis his humour to fumble, and my duty to provide for his old age.
Gerv. Take my advice yet; down o' your marrow bones, and ask forgiveness; espouse the wife he has provided for you; lie by the side of a wholesome woman, and procreate your own progeny in the fear of heaven.
Wood. I have no vocation to it, Gervase: A man of sense is not made for marriage; 'tis a game, 034 which none but dull plodding fellows can play at well; and 'tis as natural to them, as crimp is to a Dutchman.