Enter Frisco the Clown.
Fris. Here's a calling indeed! a man were better to live a lord's life and do nothing, than a serving creature, and never be idle. O master, what a mess of brewis stands now upon the point of spoiling by your hastiness. Why, they were able to have got a good stomach with child, even with the sight of them; and for a vapour—O precious vapour! Let but a wench come near them with a painted face, and you should see the paint drop and curdle on her cheeks, like a piece of dry Essex cheese toasted at the fire.
Pis. Well, sirrah, leave this thought, and mind my words.
Give diligence; inquire about
For one that is expert in languages,
A good musician and a Frenchman born,
And bring him hither to instruct my daughters.
I'll ne'er trust more a smooth-fac'd Englishman.
Fris. What, must I bring one that can speak languages? what an old ass is my master! [Aside.] Why, he may speak flaunte taunte as well as French, for I cannot understand him.
Pis. If he speak French, thus he will say, Oui, Oui.
What, can'st thou remember it?
Fris. O, I have it now, for I remember my great grandfather's grandmother's sister's cousin told me, that pigs and Frenchmen speak one language, awee, awee; I am dog at this. But what must he speak else?
Pis. Dutch.
Fris. Let's hear it?
Pis. Haunce butterkin slowpin.
Fris. O, this is nothing, for I can speak perfect Dutch when I list.