Gas. I'll tell you, sir. As I follow'd my son
From the Rialto, near unto the bridge,
We were encounter'd by a sort[306] of gallants,
Sons of clarissimos and procurators,
That knew him in his travels: whereupon
He did insinuate with his eyes unto me,
I should depart and leave them.
Lor. Seems he was asham'd of your company?
Gas. Like will to like, sir.
Lor. What grave and youthful gentleman's that with you?
Gas. Do you not know him?
Lor. No.
Gas. Not Signior Mocinigo?
Lor. You jest, I am sure.
Gas. Ay, and there hangs a jest:
For, going to a courtesan this morning
In his own proper colour, his grey beard,
He had the ill-luck to be refus'd; on which
He went and dy'd it, and came back again;
And was again with the same scorn rejected,
Telling him that she had newly deni'd his
father.
Lor. Was that her answer?