CRI. Yes, and as rank an ass as e'er he was. TRIN. Thou'rt much deceiv'd: thou neither see'st nor know'st me. I am transform'd, transform'd. CRI. Th' art still thyself. Lelio, this farmer's half a fool, half knave; And as Pandolfo did with much entreaty Persuade him to transform, so, as much labour Will hardly bring the coxcomb to himself, That ne'er was out on't. Who art, if not he? TRIN. My name is Don Antonio: I am now going To my own house, to give Pandolfo Flavia, And Armellina to his farmer Trincalo. How dar'st thou, Cricca (but a meaner servant), Resemble me (a man of worth and worship), To such a clown as Trincalo, a branded fool, An ass, a laughing-stock to town and country? Art not asham'd to name him with Antonio? LEL. Do not thy actions, with thy rude behaviour, Proclaim thee what thou art? CRI. Notorious clown! [_Beats him._ TRIN. Villain! th' hast broke my shoulders. LEL. O, didst feel him? TRIN. Ay, with a pox. LEL. Then th' art still Trincalo, For, hadst thou been Antonio, he had smarted. TRIN. I feel it, as I am Antonio. CRI. Fool! who loves Armellina? TRIN. 'Tis I, 'tis I. CRI. Antonio never lov'd his kitchen-maid. TRIN. Well, I was taken for Antonio, And in his name receiv'd ten pound in gold, Was by his mistress entertain'd; but thou Envy'st my happiness: if thou hast th' ambition To rise as I have done, go to Albumazar, And let him change thee to a knight or lord. CRI. Note the strange power of strong imagination. TRIN. A world of engines cannot wrest my thoughts From being a gentleman: I am one, and will be: And, though I be not, yet will think myself so, And scorn thee, Cricca, as a slave and servant. [_Exit._ SCENE IX. CRICCA, LELIO, ANTONIO. CRI. 'Tis but lost labour to dissuade his dulness. Believe me, that's your father. LEL. When I drove him hence, Spite of my blood, his reverend countenance Struck me t' a deep compassion. To clear all, I'll ask one question. Signior Antonio, What money took you when you went your voyage? ANT. As I remember, fourscore and fifteen pound In Barbary gold. Had Lucio kept his word, I had carried just a hundred. LEL. Pardon me, father; 'Twas my blind ignorance, not want of duty, That wrong'd you; all was intended for a farmer, Whom an astrologer, they said, transform'd. ANT. How, an astrologer?