NICH. To whom is it?
MR BAR. Why, read it: canst thou read?
NICH. Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly.
MR BAR. Why, dost thou not use it?
NICH. Forsooth, as use makes perfectness, so seldom seen is soon forgotten.
MR BAR. Well-said: but go; it is to Master Goursey.
PHIL. Now, sir, what proverb have ye to deliver a letter?
NICH. What need you to care? who speaks to you? you may speak when ye are spoken to, and keep your wind to cool your pottage. Well, well, you are my master's son, and you look for his land; but they that hope for dead men's shoes may hap go barefoot: take heed, as soon goes the young sheep to the pot as the old. I pray God save my master's life, for seldom comes the better!
PHIL. O, he hath given it me! Farewell, Proverbs.
NICH. Farewell, frost.[272]