WILL. Well said, Father Grim: you are a wily collier and a brave, I see now there is no knave like to the old knave. GRIM. Such knaves have money, when courtiers have none. But tell me, is it true that abroad is blown? JACK. What is that? GRIM. Hath the king made those fair damsels his daughters, To become now fine and trim barbers? JACK. Yea, truly, to his own person. GRIM. Good fellows, believe me, as the case now stands, I would give one sack of coals to be wash’d at their hands, If ich came so near them, for my wit chould not give three chips, If ich could not steal one swap at their lips. JACK. Will, this knave is drunk, let us dress him. Let us rifle him so, that he have not one penny to bless him, And steal away his debenters[119] too. [_Aside._ WILL. Content: invent the way, and I am ready, JACK. Faith, and I will make him a noddy. [_Aside._ Father Grim, if you pray me well,[120] I will wash you and shave you too, Even after the same fashion as the king’s daughters do: In all points as they handle Dionysius, I will dress you trim and fine. GRIM. Chuld vain learn that: come on then, chill give thee a whole pint of wine At tavern for thy labour, when ’cha money for my benters here. [_Here_ WILL _fetcheth a barber’s bason, a pot with water,[121] a razor, and cloths, and a pair of spectacles._ JACK. Come, mine own Father Grim, sit down. GRIM. Mass, to begin withal, here is a trim chair. JACK. What, man, I will use you like a prince. Sir boy, fetch me my gear. WILL. Here, sir. JACK. Hold up, Father Grim. GRIM. Me-seem my head doth swim. JACK. My costly perfumes make that. Away with this, sir boy: be quick. Aloyse, aloyse,[122] how pretty it is! is not here a good face? A fine owl’s eyes, a mouth like an oven. Father, you have good butter-teeth full seen. [_Aside_] You were weaned, else you would have been a great calf. Ah trim lips to sweep a manger! here is a chin, As soft as the hoof of an horse. GRIM. Doth the king’s daughters rub so hard? JACK. Hold your head straight, man, else all will be marr’d. By’r Lady, you are of good complexion, A right Croyden sanguine,[123] beshrew me. Hold up, Father Grim. Will, can you bestir ye? GRIM. Methinks, after a marvellous fashion you do besmear me. JACK. It is with unguentum of Daucus Maucus, that is very costly: I give not this washing-ball to everybody. After you have been dress’d so finely at my hand, You may kiss any lady’s lips within this land. Ah, you are trimly wash’d! how say you, is not this trim water? GRIM. It may be wholesome, but it is vengeance sour. JACK. It scours the better. Sir boy, give me my razor. WILL. Here at hand, sir. GRIM. God’s arms! ’tis a chopping knife, ’tis no razor.