Enter SPEED
SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?
LAUNCE. With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea.
SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,
then, in your paper?
LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st.
SPEED. Why, man? how black?
LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.
SPEED. Let me read them.
LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
SPEED. Thou liest; I can.
LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?
SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.
This proves that thou canst not read.
SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.
LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy
speed.
SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.'
