HEIGH. Fair weather after you: and now, my lads, Have I not played my part as I should do? HAR. 'Twas well, 'twas well. But now, let's cast about, To set these woodcocks farther from the house, And afterwards return unto our girls. WAL. Content, content. Come, come, make haste. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ ALVARO. ALV. I go and turn, and dan I come to dis plashe, I can no tell waer, and sal do I can no tell wat. Turn by the pump? I pump it fair. _Enter_ DELION. DEL. Me aller, end aller, and can no come to Croche Friars. _Enter_ FRISCO. FRIS. O miserable black pudding! If I can tell which is the way to my master's house, I am a red herring, and no honest gentleman. ALV. Who parlato daer? DEL. Who be der? Who aller der? FRIS. How's this? For my life, here are the strangers! O, that I had the Dutchman's hose, that I might creep into the pockets! they'll three fall upon me, and beat me. ALV. Who go der ander? DEL. Ami. FRIS. O, brave! Tis nobody but Master Alvaro and the Frenchman going to our house, on my life. Well, I'll have some sport with them, if the watch hinder me not. Who goes there? DEL. Who parle der? In wat plashe, in wat street be you? FRIS. Why, sir, I can tell where I am. I am in Tower Street: where a devil be you? DEL. I be here in Leadenhall. FRIS. In Leadenhall? I trow I shall meet with you anon. In Leadenhall? What a simple ass is this Frenchman! Some more of this. [_Aside._ Where are you, sir? ALV. Moi? I be here in Vanshe Street. FRIS. This is excellent, i' faith; as fit as a fiddle! I in Tower Street, you in Leadenhall, and the third in Fenchurch Street; and yet all three hear one another, and all three speak together. Either we must be all three in Leadenhall, or all three in Tower Street, or all three in Fenchurch Street, or all three fools. ALV. Monsieur gentlehomme, can you well teash de way to Cruche Friars? FRIS. How, to Crutched Friars? Ay, ay, ay, sir, passing well, if you will follow me. DEL. Ay, dat me sal, monsieur gentlehomme, and give you tanks. FRIS. And, Monsieur Alvaro, I shall lead you such a jaunt that you shall scarce give me thanks for. [_Aside._] Come, sirs, follow me. Now for a dirty puddle, the pissing conduit, or a great post, that might turn these two from asses to oxen by knocking their horns to their foreheads. ALV. Where be de now, signor? FRIS. Even where you will, signor, for I know not. Soft, I smell: O pure nose! DEL. What do you smell? FRIS. I have the scent of London stone as full in my nose, as Abchurch Lane of mother Wall's pasties. Sirs, feel about: I smell London stone. ALV. What be dis?