You scorn to shift, tis true I think you say, Witness your _Shirt_, not washt this many a day. _Frenchman._ _Par me foy_ de Rascall to degrase, _Ne autre_ man in de _varle_ live in such case; _Begar_ though me no speak si bon English, Me thrush Tord in de belly if de speak dis; _Begar_ me de born Gentil-man de _France_ Me can learn English _a le mode_ de Dance: Me play ode leetle Fidle, me can sing, _Par ma foy_, no Poet _Orphus_ sush Musick bring; _Begar_, you no sush man in all de _England_ have, For de Fidle, and de Dancing brave. _Englishman._ But when you come to meet your Foe in face The Fidler and the Fidler's out of case. _Frenchman._ _Begar_ de art _Jack-napes_ to a teetle, Me be brave Fellow, me can feight a leetle; Me wear _Feader_ in de Hat, me have _Tord_ by side, Me be de Gentil-man when me on de _Horse_ ride; _Englishman_ be a Clown, make Leg like a de Beare, _Frenchman_ be de Gentil-man, he fidle, and he dance rare. _Englishman._ 'Tis true, in dancing you do us excel, But can you, as the English, fight as well? When _Mars_ unsheaths his Sword, and Canons roar, And men lye welt'ring in their purple gore, When Towns are burnt, and Cities are destroy'd, To what use will your Dancing be employ'd? _Frenchman._ _Begar_ he de great Fool to speak sush ting, Brava, brava, de Dance, de Fidele, Sing; No sush ting in de varle, to peepe, to dance, To be dreass like de Madam, _a le Mode France_. _Englishman._ Brave Monsieur! gallant Monsieur! wondrous rare! Fidling and fooling, none with thee compare! _Frenchman._ _Begar_, he be de Rogue, de Villain, de Carle, To speak 'gainst de Dance, de brave ting in de varle; _Begar_ me do love it out of all de Cry, _Par ma foy_ he speak 'gainst it, tell loud lye: _France-man_ is de Gentilman in de high Sphere, Vat is de Clown vas dis skip de Angleterre De French Monsieur skip and leap like de Spright, He caper and kick, is not dat a rare Shite? _Englishman._ A rare Shite 'tis indeed, I needs must say, To see men skip like Puppets in a Play; To act the Mimick, fidle, prate and Dance, And cringe like Apes, is a le mode France: But to be resolute, one to fight with ten, And beat them, 's proper unto English men. _Frenchman._ _Begar_ France man is couragio, feight like te Tiffell, He kill, he slay, cutt men off de midle; De brave Monsieurs, de _Oliver_, de _Rowland_, _Begar_ de feight as long as de could stand; _Amadis de Gaule_, de _Roy Charlemain_, De make blood run down like drops of de rain, _Begar_, with new fashion so exc'lent! so rare! No men in de varle wid de French make compare. _Englishman._