LAUNCELET. _Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, 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. LAUNCELET. [_Aside._] 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? LAUNCELET. Do you not know me, father? GOBBO. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. LAUNCELET. 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 in the end truth will out. GOBBO. Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy. LAUNCELET. Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. GOBBO. I cannot think you are my son. LAUNCELET. I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, 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 be Launcelet, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard hast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail. LAUNCELET. It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him. GOBBO. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How ’gree you now? LAUNCELET. Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a very Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am famished in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man! To him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two. BASSANIO. You may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [_Exit a Servant._] LAUNCELET. To him, father. GOBBO. God bless your worship! BASSANIO. Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me? GOBBO. Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy. LAUNCELET. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my father shall specify.