_Wood._ Well, get thee gone, 'squire Limberhamo, for the easiest fool
I ever knew, next my naunt of fairies in the Alchemist[4]. I have
escaped, thanks to my mistress's _lingua França_: I'll steal to my
chamber, shift my perriwig and clothes; and then, with the help of
resty Gervase, concert the business of the next campaign. My father
sticks in my stomach still; but I am resolved to be Woodall with him,
and Aldo with the women. [_Exit._


ACT II. SCENE I.

_Enter_ WOODALL _and_ GERVASE.

_Wood._ Hitherto, sweet Gervase, we have carried matters swimmingly. I
have danced in a net before my father, almost check-mated the keeper,
retired to my chamber undiscovered, shifted my habit, and am come out
an absolute monsieur, to allure the ladies. How sits my _chedreux_?

_Gerv._ O very finely! with the locks combed down, like a mermaid's on
a sign-post. Well, you think now your father may live in the same
house with you till doomsday, and never find you; or, when he has
found you, he will be kind enough not to consider what a property you
have made of him. My employment is at an end; you have got a better
pimp, thanks to your filial reverence.

_Wood._ Pr'ythee, what should a man do with such a father, but use him
thus? besides, he does journey-work under me; 'tis his humour to
fumble, and my duty to provide for his old age.

_Gerv._ Take my advice yet; down o' your marrow bones, and ask