Guz. Fellow, what art?
Fran. An’t please your Worship, I cannot tell.
Guz. How, not tell?
Fran. An’t please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform’d me, I cannot tell whether I’m any thing or nothing.
Guz. Thy name, dull Mortal, know’st thou not that?
Fran. An’t please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.
Guz. Dog, how art thou call’d?
Fran. An’t like your Excellence, Men call’d me Signior Don Francisco, but now they will call me Coxcomb.
Guz. Of what Trade?
Fran. An’t please your Highness, a Gentleman.