makes waste; soft fire makes sweet malt; not too
fast for falling; there's no haste to hang true men.[270]

PHIL. Father, we ha't, ye see, we ha't. Now will I see if my memory will
serve for some proverbs too. O--a painted cloth were as well worth a
shilling as a thief worth a halter; well, after my hearty commendations,
as I was at the making hereof; so it is, that I hope as you speed, so
you're sure; a swift horse will tire, but he that trots easily will
endure. You have most learnedly proverb'd it, commending the virtue of
patience or forbearance, but yet, you know, forbearance is no quittance.

NICH. I promise ye, Master Philip, you have spoken as true as steel.

PHIL. Father, there's a proverb well applied.

NICH. And it seemeth unto me, ay, it seems to me, that you, Master
Philip, mock me: do you not know, _qui mocat mocabitur_? mock age,
and see how it will prosper.

PHIL. Why, ye whoreson proverb-book bound up in folio,
Have ye no other sense to answer me
But every word a proverb? no other English?
Well, I'll fulfil a proverb on thee straight.

NICH. What is it, sir?

PHIL. I'll fetch my fist from thine ear.

NICH. Bear witness, he threatens me!

PHIL. That same is the coward's common proverb.
But come, come, sirrah, tell me where Hugh is.

NICH. I may, and I will; I need not, except I list; you shall not
command me, you give me neither meat, drink, nor wages; I am your
father's man, and a man's a man, and a have but a hose on his head;
do not misuse me so, do not; for though he that is bound must obey,
yet he that will not tarry, may[271] run away--so he may.

MR BAR. Peace, Nick, I'll see he shall use thee well;
Go to, peace, sirrah: here, Nick, take this letter,
Carry it to him to whom it is directed.

NICH. To whom is it?

MR BAR. Why, read it: canst thou read?

NICH. Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly.

MR BAR. Why, dost thou not use it?

NICH. Forsooth, as use makes perfectness, so seldom seen is soon
forgotten.

MR BAR. Well-said: but go; it is to Master Goursey.

PHIL. Now, sir, what proverb have ye to deliver a letter?

NICH. What need you to care? who speaks to you? you may speak when ye
are spoken to, and keep your wind to cool your pottage. Well, well, you
are my master's son, and you look for his land; but they that hope for
dead men's shoes may hap go barefoot: take heed, as soon goes the young
sheep to the pot as the old. I pray God save my master's life, for