Act 2, Scene II - Page 2

will, we talk of
young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO
Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT
But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT
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
in plain terms, gone to heaven.

GOBBO
Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
age, my very prop.

LAUNCELOT
Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
a prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBO
Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:
but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his
soul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOT
Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOT
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: truth will come
to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
may, but at the length truth will out.

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

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou
be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
master agree? I have brought him a present. How
'gree you now?

LAUNCELOT
Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set
up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I
have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: 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,