_Lau. (aside.)_ O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,[45] knows me not: I will try conclusions[46] with him. _Gob_. Master young gentleman, I pray you which is the way to master Jew's? _Lau_. Turn upon 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.[47] _Gob_. 'Twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? _Lau_, Talk you of young master Launcelot?--mark me, now--_(aside.)_--now will I raise the waters.[48] Talk you of young master Launcelot? _Gob_. No master, sir: but a poor man's son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, Heaven be thanked, well to live. _Lau_, Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot. _Gob_. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.[49] _Lau. 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. _Gob_. Marry, Heaven forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. _Lau_. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?--Do you know me, father? _Gob_. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you tell me, is my boy (rest his soul!) alive or dead? _Lau_. Do you not know me, father? _Gob_. Alack! sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. _Lau_. 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: _(kneels.)_ Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out. _Gob_. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. _Lau_. 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. _Gob_. I cannot think you are my son. _Lau_. 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. _Gob_. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. What a beard hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin, my phill-horse,[50] has on his tail. _Lau_. 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. _Gob_. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present.