in, stay!
As yet we do not know his father's mind:
Why, what will Master Goursey say, my son,
If we should motion it without his knowledge?
Go to, he's a wise and discreet gentleman,
And that expects from me all honest parts;
Nor shall he fail his expectation;
First I do mean to make him privy to it:
Philip, this letter is to that effect.

PHIL. Father, for God's[264] sake, send it quickly, then:
I'll call your man. What, Hugh! where's Hugh, there, ho?

MR BAR. Philip, if this would prove a match,
It were the only means that could be found
To make thy mother friends with Mistress Goursey.

PHIL. How, a match! I'll warrant ye, a match.
My sister's fair, Frank Goursey he is rich;
Her[265] dowry, too, will be sufficient;
Frank's young,[266] and youth is apt to love;
And, by my troth, my sister's maidenhead
Stands like a game at tennis: if the ball
Hit into the hole, or hazard, farewell all:

MR BAR. How now, where's Hugh?

[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]

PHIL. Why, what doth this proverbial with us?
Why, where's Hugh?

MR BAR. Peace, peace.

PHIL. Where's Hugh, I say?

MR BAR. Be not so hasty, Philip.

PHIL. Father, let me alone,
I do it but to make myself some sport.
This formal fool, your man, speaks nought but proverbs,
And speak men what they can to him, he'll answer
With some rhyme-rotten sentence or old saying,
Such spokes as th'ancient of the parish use,
With, "Neighbour, 'tis an old proverb and a true,
Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new;"
Then says another, "Neighbour, that is true;"
And when each man hath drunk his gallon round--
A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon--
Then doth he lick his lips, and stroke his beard,
That's glued together with his slavering drops
Of yeasty ale, and when he scarce can trim
His gouty fingers, thus he'll phillip it,
And with a rotten hem, say, "Ay, my hearts,
Merry go sorry! cock and pie, my hearts"!
But then their saving penny proverb comes,
And that is this, "They that will to the wine,
By'r Lady[267] mistress, shall lay their penny to mine."
This was one of this penny-father's[268] bastards,
For, on my life, he was never[269] begot
Without the consent of some great proverb-monger.

MR BAR. O, ye are a wag.

PHIL. Well, now unto my business.
'Swounds, will that mouth, that's made of old-said saws
And nothing else, say nothing to us now?

NICH. O Master Philip, forbear; you must not leap over the stile, before
you come at it; haste