Coc. [Discovering himself] Hang toasts, my worshipful Mulligrub. Behold thy Cocledemoy, my fine vintner; my castrophomical fine boy; behold and see!
Tyse. Bliss o’ the blessed, who would but look for two knaves here?
Coc. No knave, worshipful friend, no knave; for observe, honest Cocledemoy restores whatsoever he has got, to make you know that whatsoever he has done, has been only euphoniæ gratia—for wit’s sake. I acquit this vintner, as he has acquitted me; all has been done for emphasis of wit, my fine boy, my worshipful friends.
Tyse. Go, you are a flatt’ring knave. 143
Coc. I am so; ’tis a good thriving trade; it comes forward better than the seven liberal sciences, or the nine cardinal virtues; which may well appear in this, you shall never have flattering knave turn courtier. And yet I have read of many courtiers that have turned flattering knaves.
Sir Hub. Was’t even but so? why, then all’s well. 150
Mul. I could even weep for joy.
Mistress Mul. I could weep too, but God knows for what!
Tyse. Here’s another tack to be given—your son and daughter.
Sir Hub. Is’t possible? heart, ay, all my heart; will you be joined here?