_Coc._ Hang toasts, you are an ass; much o' your worship's brain lies in your calves; bread o' god, boy, I was at supper last night with a new-wean'd bulchin; bread o' god, drunk, horribly drunk--horribly drunk! there was a wench, one Frank Frailty, a punk, an honest polecat, of a clean instep, sound leg, smooth thigh, and the nimble devil in her buttock. Ah, feast o' grace! when saw you, Tysefew, or Master Caqueteur, that prattling gallant of a good draught, common customs, fortunate impudence, and sound fart? 163 _Free._ Away, rogue! _Coc._ Hang toasts, my fine boy, my companion as worshipful. _Mal._ Yes, I hear you are taken up with scholars and churchmen. _Enter_ HOLIFERNES _the barber_. _Coc._ _Quanquam_[32] _te, Marce, fili_, my fine boy. _Hol._ Does[33] your worship want a barber-surgeon? 170 _Free._ Farewell, knave; beware the Mulligrubs. [_Exeunt_ FREEVILL _and_ MALHEREUX. _Coc._ Let the Mulligrubs beware the knave. What, a barber-surgeon, my delicate boy? _Hol._ Yes, sir, an apprentice to surgery. _Coc._[34] 'Tis, my fine boy. To what bawdy-house doth your master belong? What's thy name? _Hol._ Holifernes Reinscure. _Coc._ Reinscure! Good Master Holifernes, I desire your further acquaintance; nay, pray ye be covered, my fine boy: kill thy itch, and heal thy scabs. Is thy master rotten? 181 _Hol._ My father, forsooth, is dead---- _Coc._ _And laid in his grave. Alas! what comfort shall Peggy then have!_[35] _Hol._ None but me, sir; that's my mother's son, I assure you. _Coc._ Mother's son? A good witty boy, would live to read an homily well: and to whom are you going now? _Hol._ Marry, forsooth, to trim Master Mulligrub the vintner. 190 _Coc._ Do you know Master Mulligrub? _Hol._ My godfather, sir. _Coc._ Good boy: hold up thy chops. I pray thee do one thing for me: my name is Gudgeon. _Hol._ Good Master Gudgeon. _Coc._ Lend me thy basin, razor, and apron. _Hol._ O Lord, sir![36] _Coc._ Well spoken; good English. But what's thy furniture worth? _Hol._ O Lord, sir, I know not. 200 _Coc._ Well spoken; a boy of a good wit: hold this pawn; where dost dwell? _Hol._ At the sign of the Three Razors, sir. _Coc._ A sign of good shaving, my catastrophonical fine boy. I have an odd jest to trim Master Mulligrub, for a wager; a jest, boy; a humour. I'll return thy things presently. Hold! _Hol._ What mean you, good Master Gudgeon? _Coc._ Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I'll recoil presently. 210 _Hol._ You'll not stay long. _Coc._ As I am an honest man. The Three Razors? _Hol._ Ay, sir.