Don. Come, fiddle faddle, what a deal of ceremony there is betwixt your dancing-master and you, cuerno!—
Hip. Lord, sir! I hope you'll allow me to show my respect to my master, for I have a great respect for my master.
Ger. And I am very proud of my scholar, and am a very great honourer of my scholar.
Don. Come, come, friend, about your business, and honour the king.—[To Mrs. Caution.] Your dancing-masters and barbers are such finical, smooth-tongued, tattling fellows; and if you set 'em once a-talking, they'll ne'er a-done, no more than when you set 'em a-fiddling: indeed, all that deal with fiddles are given to impertinency.
Mrs. Caut. Well, well, this is an impertinent fellow, without being a dancing-master. He is no more a dancing-master than I am a maid.
Don. What! will you still be wiser than I? voto!—Come, come, about with my daughter, man.
Prue. So he would, I warrant you, if your worship would let him alone.
Don. How now, Mrs. Nimblechaps!
Ger. Well, though I have got a little canting at the dancing-school since I was here, yet I do all so bunglingly, he'll discover me. [Aside to Hippolita.