says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
	fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
	'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'
	say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my
	conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
	who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
	run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
	fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
	himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
	incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
	but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
	me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
	friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
	at your command; I will run.

	[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

GOBBO	Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	[Aside]  O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
	who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
	knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBO	Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but,
	at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at
	the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn
	down indirectly to the Jew's house.

GOBBO	By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can
	you tell me whether one Launcelot,
	that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

LAUNCELOT	Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

	[Aside]

	Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
	of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO	No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,
	though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man
	and, God be thanked, well to live.

LAUNCELOT	Well, let his father be what a' 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