Van. Neit, neit; dare be no man.
Laur. Are you up, sir?
Van. Neit, neit.
Mar. Nor never are you like to climb more higher.
Sisters, the woodcock's caught, the fool is cag'd!
Van. My sout lady, I be noc neit up; pull me tot you.
Math. When, can you tell? what, Master Vandal?
A weather-beaten soldier, an old wencher,
Thus to be overreach'd by three young girls!
Ah! sirrah, now we'll brag with Mistress Moore,
To have as fine a parrot as she hath.
Look, sisters, what a pretty fool it is!
What a green, greasy, shining coat he hath.
An almond for parrot! a rope for parrot![531]
Van. Do you mocque me? seger, seger, I sal seg your vader.
Laur. Do, and you dare: you see here is your fortune.
Disquiet not my father; if you do,
I'll send you with a vengeance to the ground.
Well, we must confess we trouble you,
And over-watching makes a wise man mad,
Much more a fool: there's a cushion for you.
Math. To bore you through the nose.[532] [Aside.
Laur. To lay your head on.
Couch in your kennel, sleep, and fall to rest,
And so good night; for London maids scorn still,
A Dutchman should be seen to curb their will.