ANTH. Pisaro did command Frisco his man (A simple sot, kept only but for mirth), To inquire about in London for a man That were a Frenchman and musician, To be (as I suppose) his daughters' tutor. Him if you meet, as like enough you shall, He will inquire of you of his affairs; Then make him answer, you three came from Paul's, And in the middle walk one you espied, Fit for his purpose: then describe this cloak, This beard and hat; for in this borrowed shape Must I beguile and overreach the fool. The maids must be acquainted with this drift. The door doth ope: I dare not stay reply, Lest being descried--Gentlemen, adieu, And help him now, that oft hath helped you. [_Exit._ _Enter_ FRISCO. WAL. How now, sirrah, whither are you going? FRIS. Whither am I going? how shall I tell you, when I do not know myself, nor understand myself? HEIGH. What dost thou mean by that? FRIS. Marry, sir, I am seeking a needle in a bottle of hay; a monster in the likeness of a man: one that, instead of good morrow, asketh what porridge you have to dinner? parley-vous. signior? one that never washes his fingers, but licks them clean with kisses; a clipper of the king's English; and, to conclude, an eternal enemy to all good language. HAR. What's this? what's this? FRIS. Do not you smell me? Well, I perceive that wit doth not always dwell in a satin-doublet. Why, 'tis a Frenchman: Basi mon cue, how do you? HAR. I thank you, sir: but tell me what wouldst thou do with a Frenchman? FRIS. Nay, faith, I would do nothing with him, unless I set him to teach parrots to speak. Marry, the old ass, my master, would have him to teach his daughters, though I trust the whole world sees that there be such in his house that can serve his daughters' turn as well as the proudest Frenchman. But if you be good lads, tell me where I may find such a man? HEIGH. We will. Go hie thee straight to Paul's, There shalt thou find one fitting thy desire: Thou soon may'st know him, for his beard is black, And such his raiment[491]: if thou runn'st apace, Thou canst not miss him, Frisco. FRIS. Lord, Lord, how shall poor Frisco reward your rich tidings, gentlemen? I am yours till Shrove-Tuesday, for then change I my copy, and look like nothing but red-herring-cobs and stock-fish; yet I'll do somewhat for you in the meantime. My master is abroad, and my young mistresses at home: if you can do any good on them, before the Frenchman come, why so. Ah! gentlemen, do not suffer a litter of languages to spring up amongst us. I must to the walk in Paul's, you to the vestry. Gentlemen, as to myself and so forth. [_Exit_ FRISCO.