Fris. Ha! sirrah, I have left my fat Dutchman, and run myself almost out of breath too. Now to my young mistresses go I; somebody cast an old shoe after me.[527] But soft: how shall I do to counterfeit the Dutchman, because I speak English so like a natural? Tush, take you no thought for that; let me alone for squintum squantum. Soft, here's my master's house.
Heigh. Who's there?
Fris. Who's there, why, sir, here is—nay, that's too good English. Why, here be the growte Dutchman.
Heigh. Then, there's not only a growte head, but an ass also.
Fris. What be you? you be an English ox to call a gentilemoan ass.
Har. Hark, Ned; yonder's good greeting.
Fris. But you, and you be Master Mouse that dwell here, tell your Matressa Laurentia dat her sweetheart, Master Vandal, would speak with her.
Heigh. Master Mendall, get you gone, lest you get a broken pate, and so mar all. Here's no entrance for Mistress Laurentia's sweetheart.
Fris. God's sacren, wat is de luck now? Shall not I come to my friend Master Pisar hoose?
Heigh. Yes, and to Master Pisaro's shoes too,[528] if he or they were here.