FRIS. Ay, Monsieur Mendall. Why, forsooth, I was at his chamber, and we were coming hitherward, and he was very hot, and bad me carry his cloak; and I no sooner had it, but he (being very light) firks me down on the left hand, and I turn'd down on the left hand, and so lost him. PIS. Why, then you turn'd together, ass? FRIS. No, sir, we never saw one another since. PIS. Why, turn'd you not both on the left hand? FRIS. No, forsooth: we turned both on the left hand. PIS. Heyday! Why, yet you went both together. FRIS. Ah, no! we went clean contrary, one from another. PIS. Why, dolt--why, patch--why, ass, on which hand turned ye? FRIS. Alas, alas! I cannot tell, forsooth: it was so dark I could not see on which hand we turned; but I am sure we turned one way. PIS. Was ever creature plagued with such a dolt? My son Vandal now hath lost himself, And shall all night go straying 'bout the town; Or meet with some strange watch that knows him not, And all by such an arrant ass as this! ANTH. No, no, you may soon smell the Dutchman's lodging. Now for a figure--Out, alas! what's yonder? PIS. Where? FRIS. Heyday! heyday! a basket? It turns, ho! PIS. Peace, ye villain, and let's see who's there? Go, look about the house! Where are our weapons? What might this mean? FRIS. Look, look, look! There's one in it; he peeps out. Is there ne'er a stone here to hurl at his nose? PISA. What, wouldst thou break my windows with a stone? How now, who's there I who are you, sir? FRIS. Look, he peeps out again! O, it's Monsieur Mendall, it's Monsieur Mendall. How got he up thither? PIS. What, my son Vandal! how comes this to pass? ALV. Signor Vandal, wat, do yo go to de wensh in dit little basket. VAN. O vader, vader! here be sush cruel dochterkins, ic ben all so weary, all so weary, all so cold, for be in dit little basket. Ic pray help de me. FRIS. He looks like the sign of the Mouth without Bishopsgate gaping: a great face and a great head, and no body. PIS. Why, how now, son! What, have your adamants Drawn you up so far, and there left you hanging 'Twixt heaven and earth, like Mahomet's sepulchre? ANTH. They did unkindly, whosoe'er they were, That plagued him here, like Tantalus in hell, To touch his lips like the desired fruit, And then to snatch it from his gaping chaps. ALV. A little farder, Signer Vandal, and den may put you head into de window, and cash de wensh. VAN. Ic pray, vader, dat you help de me; ic pray, goody vader. PIS. Help you, but how? FRIS. Cut the rope. ANTH. Sir, I'll go in and see. And if I can, I'll let him down to you. [_Exit_ ANTHONY.