Ger. Pshaw! pshaw!—I know the vanity of you women; you could not contain yourselves from bragging.
Mons. Ma foi! is it certain? ha! ha! ha!—Hark you, madam, can't you fare well but you must cry roast-meat?
You spoil your trade by bragging of your gains;
The silent sow (madam) does eat most grains.—da—
Flirt. Your servant, monsieur fop.
Flou. Nay, faith, do not go, we will no more tell—
Mons. Than you would of a clap, if you had it; dat's the only secret you can keep, jarni!
Mar. I am glad we are rid of these jilts.
Ger. And we have taken a very ridiculous occasion.
Mons. Wat! must we leave the lady then? dis is dam civility Englis, ma foi!