LAUNCELOT Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but
give me your blessing. I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
GOBBO I cannot think you are my son.
LAUNCELOT I know not what I shall think of that, but I am Launcelot, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery
your wife is my mother. GOBBO
Her name is Margery indeed. I’ll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard hast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse41 has on his tail.