Reignald. I knew that, therefore this was my invention, For policy’s the art still of prevention. Clown. Come down, then, Reignald,--first on your hands and feet, and then on your knees to your master.--Now, gentlemen, what do you say to your inviting to my master’s feast? Ricott. We will attend him. Old Lionel. Nor do I love to break good company, For Master Wincott is my worthy friend And old acquaintance--[Reignald _descends_.] Oh, thou crafty wag-string! And couldst thou thus delude me? But we are friends.-- Nor, gentlemen, let not what’s hereto past, In your least thoughts disable my estate: This my last voyage hath made all things good, With surplus too; be that your comfort, son. Well, Reignald----But no more. Reignald. I was the fox, But I from henceforth will no more the cox-- Comb put upon your pate. Old Lionel. Let’s walk, gentlemen. [_Exeunt_. ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I.--_Outside_ Old Wincott’s _House_. _Enter_ Old Geraldine _and_ Young Geraldine. Old Geraldine. Son, let me tell you, you are ill advised, And doubly to be blamed, by undertaking Unnecessary travel, grounding no reason For such a rash and giddy enterprise. What profit aim you at, you have not reaped? What novelty affords the Christian world, Of which your view hath not participated In a full measure? Can you either better Your language or experience? Your self-will Hath only purpose to deprive a father Of a loved son, and many noble friends Of your much-wished acquaintance. Young Geraldine. Oh, dear sir, Do not, I do entreat you, now repent you Of your free grant, which with such care and study I have so long, so often laboured for. Old Geraldine. Say that may be dispensed with, show me reason Why you desire to steal out of your country, Like some malefactor that had forfeited His life and freedom. Here’s a worthy gentleman Hath for your sake invited many guests, To his great charge, only to take of you A parting leave: you send him word you cannot-- After, you may not come. Had not my urgence, Almost compulsion, driven you to his house, The unkindness might have forfeited your love, And razed you from his will; in which he hath given you A fair and large estate; yet you of all this strangeness Show no sufficient ground. Young Geraldine. Then understand The ground thereof took his first birth from you; ’Twas you first charged me to forbear the house, And that upon your blessing. Let it not then Offend you, sir, if I so great a charge Have strived to keep so strictly. Old Geraldine. Me perhaps You may appease, and with small difficulty, Because a father; but how satisfy Their dear and, on your part, unmerited love? But this your last obedience may salve all. We now grow near the house.