Fris. You say true, sir, for I am afeard your French spirit is up so far already, that you brought me this way, because you would find a charm for it at the Blue Boar in the spital. But soft, who comes here?
Enter a Bellman.
Bel. Maids in your smocks,
Look well to your locks;
Your fire and light;
And God give you good night!
Del. Monsieur gentlehomme, I pray parlez one, two, three, four words vor us to dis oul man.
Fris. Yes, marry, shall I, sir. I pray, honest fellow, in what street be we?
Bel. Ho, Frisco! whither frisk you at this time of night?
Del. What, Monsieur Frisco?
Alv. Signor Frisco?
Fris. The same, the same. Hark ye, honesty; methinks you might do well to have an M under your girdle,[529] considering how Signor Pisaro and this other monsieur do hold of me.