Cri. Trincalo!
Trin. Wear a gold chain at every quarter sessions,
Look big and grave, and speak not one wise word.
Cri. Trincalo!
Trin. Examine wenches got with child, and curiously
Search all the circumstances: have blank mitti-muses
Printed in readiness; breathe nought but, Sirrah,
Rogue, ha? ho? hum? Constable, look to your charge;
Then vouch a statute and a Latin sentence,
Wide from the matter.
Cri. Trincalo!
Trin. License all ale-houses;
Match my son Transformation t' a knight's daughter,
And buy a bouncing pedigree of a Welsh herald:
And then——
Cri. What! In such serious meditations?
Trin. Faith, no; but building castles in the air
While th' weather's fit: O Cricca, such a business!
Cri. What is't?
Trin. Nay, soft; they're secrets of my master,
Lock'd in my breast: he has the key at's purse-strings.[292]