045 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man’s son: his father, [046] though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.
[050] Gob. Your worship’s friend, and Launcelot, sir.
Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech [052] you, talk you of young Master Launcelot?
Gob. Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership.
Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master 055 Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters [057] Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.
Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of 060 my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff [062] or a prop? Do you know me, father?
Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his 065 soul, alive or dead?
Laun. Do you not know me, father?