Yet are but knaves, I tell you.
Then lack, lack, and well a day!
Fla. Good, honest Fool, I do sincerely thank thee.
Fool. Nay, nay, say not so; an I had flattered, why then, perchance, I had merited this; but i’faith, gentle lady, he that says nought, save the bare truth, doth ofttimes meet but a bare compliment. But an you do flatter, methinks the compliment will savour more of untruth, than did the flattery; but thus it goes with our slippery world.
Pas. Who is it comes this way?
Fla. Let us retire;
Perchance, it may be one of our pursuers.
Fool. An thou’lt listen awhile to me, I’ll tell thee thou need’st not fear; ’tis but the post on ’s way to your father’s palace.
Enter Post.
Pas. Friend, thou outrunnest almost speed itself;