Sir Greg. I do wonder how the Trojans could hold out ten years siege (as 'tis reported) against the Greeks, if Achilles spoke but this tongue? I do not think but he might have shaken down the Walls in a seven-night, and ne'er troubled the wooden horse.
Witty. I will try him so far as I can in the Syriack. Kircom bragmen, shag a dou ma dell mathou.
Pris. Hashagath rabgabosh shobos onoriadka.
Witty. Colpack Rubasca, gnawerthem shig shag.
[Pris.] Napshamothem Ribs[h]e bongomosh lashemech nagothi.
Witty. Gentlemen I have done, any man that can, go farther, I confess my self at a Nonplus.
Sir Greg. Faith not I, Sir, I was at my farthest in my natural language, I was never double-tongu'd, I thank my hard fortune.
Witty. Well Gentlemen, 'tis pity, (walk farther off a little my friends) I say, 'tis pity such fellows so endow'd, so qualified with the gifts of Nature and Arts, yet should have such a scarcity of fortune's benefits, we must blame our Ironhearted age for it.
Old K. 'Tis pity indeed, and our pity shall speak a little, for 'em; Come Sir, here's my groat.
Witty. A Groat Sir? oh fie, give nothing rather, 'twere better you rail'd on 'em for begging, and so quit your self, I am a poor Gentleman, that have but little but my wits to live on.