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Enter Old Gobbo with a basket.

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?

Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than sand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not. I will try confusions with him.

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?

Laun. Turn up on 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.

Gob. Be God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside.] Mark me now, now will I raise the waters.—Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man’s son. His father, though I say’t, is an honest exceeding poor man and, God be thank’d, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what ’a will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.