Mons. Vel, vel, my father was a merchant of his own beer, as the noblesse of Franch of their own wine.—But I can forgive you that raillery, that bob,[56] since you say I have the eyre Français:—but have I the eyre Français?
Ger. As much as any French footman of 'em all.
Mons. And do I speak agreeable ill Englis enough?
Ger. Very ill.
Mons. Véritablement?
Ger. Véritablement.
Mons. For you must know, 'tis as ill breeding now to speak good Englis as to write good Englis, good sense, or a good hand.
Ger. But, indeed, methinks you are not slovenly enough for a Frenchman.
Mons. Slovenly! you mean negligent?