CRI. Ha, ha, ha! through what a grace And goodly countenance the rascal speaks! What a grave portance! could Antonio Himself outdo him? O you notorious villain! Who would have thought thou couldst have thus dissembled? ANT. How now! a servant thus familiar? Sirrah, Use your companions so: more reverence Becomes you better. CRI. As though I understood not The end of all this plot and goodly business. Come, I know all. See! this untill'd clod of earth Conceits his mind transform'd as well as body. He wrings and bites his lips for fear of laughing. Ha, ha, ha! ANT. Why laugh you, sirrah? CRI. Sirrah, to see thee chang'd So strangely, that I cannot spy an inch Of thy old clownish carcase: ha, ha! ANT. Laughter proceeds From absurd actions that are harmless. CRI. Ha, ha, ha! Sententious blockhead! ANT. And y' are ill-advis'd To jest instead of pity. Alas! my miseries, Dangers of death, slav'ry of cruel Moors And tedious journeys, might have easily alter'd A stronger body, much more this decay'd vessel, Out-worn with age, and broken by misfortunes. CRI. Leave your set speeches. Go to Antonio's house, Effect your business; for, upon my credit, Th' art so well-turn'd, they dare not but accept thee. ANT. Where should I hope for welcome, if not there-- From my own house, children, and family? CRI. Is't possible this coxcomb should conceive His mind transform'd? How gravely he continues The countenance he began! ha, ha! Why, blockhead, Think'st to deceive me too? Why, Trincalo! ANT. I understand you not. Hands off. CRI. Art not thou Trincalo, Pandolfo's man? ANT. I not so much as know him. CRI. Dar'st thou deny't to me? ANT. I dare, and must To all the world, long as Antonio lives. CRI. You arrant ass! have I not known thee serve My master in his farm this thirteen years? ANT. By all the oaths that bind men's consciences To truth, I am Antonio, and no other. SCENE III. _Enter_ PANDOLFO. PAN. What means this noise? O Cricca! what's the matter? CRI. Sir, here's your farmer Trincalo, transform'd So just, as he were melted, and new-cast In the true mould of old Antonio. PAN. Th' right eye's no liker to the left, than he To my good neighbour. Divine Albumazar! How I admire thy skill! Just so he look'd, And thus he walk'd: this is his face, his hair: His eyes and countenance. If his voice be like, Then is th' astrologer a wonder-worker. ANT. Signior Pandolfo, I thank the heavens as much To find you well, as for my own return. How does your daughter and my love Sulpitia? PAN. Well, well, sir.