"Very likely," says father, "and my name is More, but what is that to the purpose?"
"And that is more to the purpose, you mighte have said," returned the other.
"Why, soe I mighte," says father, "but how shoulde I have proved it?"
"You who are a lawyer shoulde know best about that," rejoyned the poor knave; "'tis too hard for poor Patteson."
"Well, but who are you?" says father, "and what do you want of me?"
"Don't you mind me?" says Patteson; "I played Hold-your-tongue, last Christmasse revel was five years, and they called me a smart chap then, but last Martinmasse I fell from ye church steeple, and shook my brain-pan, I think, for its contents have seemed addled ever since; soe what I want now is to be made a fool."
"Then you are not one now?" says father.
"If I were," says Patteson, "I shoulde not have come to you."
"Why, like cleaves to like, you know they say," says father.
"Aye," says 'tother, "but I've reason and feeling enow, too, to know you are no fool, though I thoughte you might want one. Great people like 'em at their tables, I've hearde say, though I am sure I can't guesse why, for it makes me sad to see fools laughed at; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at alreadie, methinketh I may as well get paid for the job if I can, being unable, now, to doe a stroke of work in hot weather. And I'm the onlie son of my mother, and she is a widow. But perhaps I'm not bad enough."