Arm. Signior Pandolfo's lusty farmer?
Trin. That's he.
Arm. Most unexpected happiness! 'tis the man
I more esteem than my own life: sweet master,
Procure that match, and think me satisfied
For all my former service without wages.
But, ah! I fear you jest. My poor unworthiness
Hopes not so great a fortune as sweet Trincalo.
No, wretched Armellina, in and despair:
Back to thy mournful dresser; there lament
Thy flesh to kitchen-stuff, and bones to ashes,
For love of thy sweet farmer.
Trin. Alas! poor soul,
How prettily she weeps for me! Wilt see him?
Arm. My soul waits in my eyes, and leaves my body
Senseless.
Trin. Then swear to keep my counsel.
Arm. I swear
By th' beauteous eyes of Trincalo.
Trin. Why, I am Trincalo.
Arm. Your worship, sir! why do you flout your servant,
Right worshipful Antonio, my reverend master?
Trin. Pox of Antonio! I am Tom Trincalo.
Why laugh'st thou?