d, Heaven be thanked, well to
live.

_Lau_, Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master
Launcelot.

_Gob_. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.[49]

_Lau. Ergo_, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father; for
the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd
sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning), is, indeed,
deceased; or, as you would say is plain terms, gone to heaven.

_Gob_. Marry, Heaven forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my
very prop.

_Lau_. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, 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 (rest his soul!) alive or dead?

_Lau_. Do you not know me, father?

_Gob_. Alack! sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

_Lau_. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing
me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will
tell you news of your son: Give me your blessing: _(kneels.)_ Truth will
come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may; but, in the
end, truth will out.

_Gob_. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

_Lau_. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your
blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your
child that shall be,

_Gob_. I cannot think you are my son.

_Lau_. I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelot, the
Jew's man; and I am sure Margery, your wife, is my mother.

_Gob_. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn if thou be Launcelot,
thou art mine own flesh and blood. What a beard hast thou got: thou hast
got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin, my phill-horse,[50] has on his
tail.

_Lau_. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am
sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face, when I last
saw him.

_Gob_. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I
have brought him a present.

_Lau. (rises.)_ Give him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in
his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am
glad you are come: give me your present to one master Bassanio, who,
indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run as far
as Heaven has any ground.--O rare fortune! here comes the man;--to him,
father; for I am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.