Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound:
your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over
your night's exploit on Gads-hill: you may thank the unquiet140
time for your quiet o'er-posting that action.
Fal. My lord?[3390]
Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a
sleeping wolf.
Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox.[3391]145
Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better part
burnt out.
Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say[3392]
of wax, my growth would approve the truth.
Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face but150
should have his effect of gravity.
Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down,
like his ill angel.[3393]
Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I[3394]155
hope he that looks upon me will take me without[3395]
weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I[3396]
cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these[3396][3397]
costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy[3397][3398]
is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving[3399]160
reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the
malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry.[3400]
You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are
young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the[3401]
bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our165
youth, I must confess, are wags too.