Hol. What mean you, good Master Gudgeon?
Coc. Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I’ll recoil presently. 210
Hol. You’ll not stay long.
Coc. As I am an honest man. The Three Razors?
Hol. Ay, sir.
[Exit Holifernes.
Coc. Good; and if I shave not Master Mulligrub, my wit has no edge, and I may[37] go cack in my pewter. Let me see,—a barber: my scurvy tongue will discover me:
must dissemble, must disguise; for my beard, my false hair; for my tongue—Spanish, Dutch or Welsh—no, a Northern barber; very good. Widow Reinscure’s man, well; newly entertain’d, right; so, hang toasts! all cards have white backs, and all knaves would seem to have white breasts: so proceed now, worshipful Cocledemoy.
[Exit Cocledemoy, in his barber’s furniture.
[28] “It is impossible to resist the idea that Marston was here thinking of Shakespeare: ‘Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. For you, in my respect, are all the world.’”—Halliwell.