Bust. Washes the whiting-Mops.
Fra. Thou ly'st, she has none to wash Mops?
The boy is half way out of his wits, sure:
Sirrah, who am I?
Bust. The thundring Seas.
Fra. Mad, stark mad.
Bust. Will you not give a man leave to con?
Fra. Yes, and fesse too, e'r I have done with you Sirrah,
Am I your father?
Bust. The question is too hard for a child, ask me any thing
That I have learn'd, and I'll answer you.
Fra. Is that a hard question? Sirrah, am not I your Father?
Bust. If I had my Mother-wit I could tell you.
Fra. Are you a thief?