LORENZO. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting up of the negro’s belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.
LAUNCELOT GOBBO. It is much that the Moor should be more than reason: but if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for.
LORENZO. How every fool can play upon the word! I thin the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.
LAUNCELOT GOBBO. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.
LORENZO. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them prepare dinner.
LAUNCELOT GOBBO. That is done too, sir; only ’cover’ is the word.
LORENZO. Will you cover then, sir?
LAUNCELOT GOBBO. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.
LORENZO. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.
LAUNCELOT GOBBO. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern.