Ant. Why laugh you, sirrah?
Cri. Sirrah, to see thee chang'd
So strangely, that I cannot spy an inch
Of thy old clownish carcase: ha, ha!
Ant. Laughter proceeds
From absurd actions that are harmless.
Cri. Ha, ha, ha!
Sententious blockhead!
Ant. And y' are ill-advis'd
To jest instead of pity. Alas! my miseries,
Dangers of death, slav'ry of cruel Moors
And tedious journeys, might have easily alter'd
A stronger body, much more this decay'd vessel,
Out-worn with age, and broken by misfortunes.
Cri. Leave your set speeches. Go to Antonio's house,
Effect your business; for, upon my credit,
Th' art so well-turn'd, they dare not but accept thee.
Ant. Where should I hope for welcome, if not there—
From my own house, children, and family?
Cri. Is't possible this coxcomb should conceive
His mind transform'd? How gravely he continues
The countenance he began! ha, ha! Why, blockhead,
Think'st to deceive me too? Why, Trincalo!
Ant. I understand you not. Hands off.
Cri. Art not thou Trincalo,
Pandolfo's man?