Mer. Alexander the sharp, you take [me] very quickly.
Moth. Nay, I can tell you, Alexander will do it, do you read madcap still?
Alex. Sometimes forsooth.
Moth. But faith Son, what Countreys have you travell'd?
Mer. Why many, Mother, as they lay before me, France, Spain, Italy and Germany, and other Provinces that I am sure, you are not better'd by, when you hear of them.
Moth. And can you these tongues perfectly?
Mer. Of some a little, Mother.
Moth. Pray spout some French Son.
Mer. You understand it not, and to your ears 'twill goe like an unshod cart upon the stones, only a rough unhandsome sound.
Moth. [Faith] I would fain hear some French.