I had not thought the Devil to be so cunning;
And, by the mass, Tom Collier [is] as good as he:
I see that like with like will ever agree.
Coll. Farewell, Master Devil, vor ich must be gone. [Exit.
Lu. Why, then, farewell my gentle friend Tom.
New. Farewell, Tom Collier, a knave be thy comfort! [Exit Tom Collier.
How say'st thou, godfather? is not this trim sport?
Lu. Thou art mine own boy; my blessing thou shalt have.
New. By my truth, godfather, that blessing I do not crave;