Mons. Ay; it may be you would be ashamed yourself, monsieur mon oncle, of the great train you would get to wait upon your Spanish hose, puh—the boys would follow you, and hoot at you—vert and bleu! pardon my Franch franchise, monsieur mon oncle.
Hip. We shall have sport anon, betwixt these two contraries. [Apart to Prue.
Don. Dost thou call me "monsieur?" voto á St. Jago!
Mons. No, I did not call you Monsieur Voto á St. Jago! Sir, I know you are my uncle, Mr. James Formal—da—
Don. But I can hardly know you are my cousin, Mr. Nathaniel Paris.—But call me, sir, Don Diego henceforward, look you, and no monsieur. Call me monsieur! guarda!
Mons. I confess my error, sir; for none but a blind man would call you monsieur, ha! ha!—But, pray, do not call me neder Paris, but de Paris, de Paris, (s'il vous plait,) Monsieur de Paris. Call me monsieur, and welcome, da—
Don. Monsieur de Pantaloons then, voto—
Mons. Monsieur de Pantaloons! a pretty name, a pretty name, ma foi! da—bien trouvé de Pantaloons! how much better den your de la Fountaines, de la Rivieres, de la Roches, and all the de's in France—da—well; but have you not the admiration for my pantaloon, Don Diego, mon oncle?
Don. I am astonished at them, verdaderamente, they are wonderfully ridiculous.
Mons. Redicule! redicule! ah—'tis well you are my uncle, da—redicule! ha—is dere any ting in the universe so gentil as de pantaloons? any ting so ravissant as de pantaloons? Auh—I could kneel down and varship a pair of gentil pantaloons. Vat, vat, you would have me have de admiration for dis outward skin of your thigh, which you call Spanish hose, fi! fi! fi!—ha! ha! ha!