FRIS. Hear you, master Mouse, did you dine to-day at Paul's with the rest of the gentlemen there? ANTH. No, sir, I am yet undined. FRIS. Methinks you should have a reasonable good stomach then by this time: as for me, I can feel[515] nothing within me from my mouth to my cod-piece, but all empty: wherefore I think it a piece of wisdom to go in and see what Maudlin hath provided for our dinner. Master Mouse, will you go in? ANTH. With as good a stomach and desire as yourself. FRIS. Let's pass in then. [_Exeunt_ FRISCO _and_ ANTHONY. VAN. Han seg you, dochtor, vor vat cause, vor why bed also much grooterly strange, ic seg you wat, if dat ghy speak to me, is dat ghy love me? LAU. Is't that I care not for you? Is't that your breath stinks? If that your breath stinks not, you must learn sweeter English, or I shall never understand your suit. DEL. Pardonnez moi, madame. MATH. With all my heart, so you offend no more. DEL. Is dat an offence to be amorous de one belle gentlewoman? MATH. Ay, sir, see: your belle gentlewoman cannot be amorous of you. MAR. Then if I were as that belle gentlewoman's lover, I would trouble her no further, nor be amorous any longer. ALV. Madonna, yet de bellezza of de face, beauty, de form of all de corpo may be such, dat no periculo, nor all de mal shance, can make him leave her dolce visage. LAUR. But, signor Alvaro, if the periculo or mal-shance were such, that she should love and live with another, then the dolce visage must be left in spite of the lover's teeth, whilst he may whine at his own ill-fortune. VAN. Dat's war, maitresse, for it is untrue, saying, dey wint he taught dey verleift lie scrat sin gat. MATH. And I think, too, you are like to scratch there, but never to claw any of my sister's love away. VAN. Dan sal your sistre do gainst her vader's will, for your vader segt dat ic sal heb bar vor mine wife. LAUR. I think not so, sir, for I never heard him say so; but I'll go in and ask him if his meaning be so. MAR. Hark, sister; signor Alvaro saith, that I am the fairest of all us three. LAUR. Believe him not, for he'll tell any lie, If so he thinks thou may's be pleas'd thereby. Come, go with me, and ne'er stand prating here, I have a jest to tell thee in thine ear Shall make you laugh. Come, let your signor stand: I know there's not a wench in all this town Scoffs at him more, or loves him less than thou. Master Vandal, as much I say for you; If needs you marry with an English lass, Woo her in English, or she'll call you ass. MATH. Tut, that's a French cog; sure, I think, There's ne'er a wench in France not half so fond To woo and sue so for your monsieurship.