_Roger._ No--if he does, he's taken up with a Letter Scratched, and sent to the Bastile, and if you ask a reason for it, all they say to you is--de parlour oi. Why now here we can each talk of folks at Helm and of Taxes, and know as much of the matter as any of un. _Sideboard._ That's the Privilege of an Englishman, Roger. _Roger._ And then a Sarvant there has no Vails--a Butler's place is nothing there, a poor Gentleman may come and dine there, and you're oblig'd to be as civil to him, as if he had money in his Pocket, and was oblig'd to give you more than his dinner is worth, as they do in England. I had rather live with an honest Citizen, who brings his friend home from change to his own dinner, mayhap a Leg of Mutton and a Pudding, and if you fix yourself well at the Door, you are sure to touch un for a Hog. _Sideboard._ A poor servant had better be a country curate than that. _Roger._ I am sure I hated them all the time I was there and their lingo and all. Such outlandish Names they have for things--what do you think they call a Horse? Cheval. And Beef, now what do you think they call Beef? _Sideboard._ I can't say. _Roger._ They call it Beff--and sometimes they call it Bulli, the honest Beef of old England is call'd Beff by un. And what do you think they call the French King? _Sideboard._ The grand Monarque. _Roger._ It's worser than that, it is not as you read in the Flying Mercury and the Country Journal, but they call un the King of France, they do indeed. _Sideboard._ Hush! The bell rings, I must go into 'em. _Roger._ Do so, Master Sideboard, and I'll step down--Beff, I'll tell you what Master Sideboard, it's my Opinion they'll never come to speak English while they live--Beff. (_Exeunt_) (_Scene discovers them_ [JACK, WILDFIRE, FOXCHASE, SIR ROBERT, ABBÉ, _and_ FLORID] _at Table_) _Jack._ Mort de ma Vie! I am burnt alive. _Wildfire._ Come, come, off with your Glass. _Foxchase._ Ay, ay, off with this Bumper. _Jack._ Gentlemen, I believe you take me for the Fire Eater, I can't swallow liquid Flames; can't we have the coffee and the Liquor? _Wildfire._ There's more trouble with one Fellow that won't drink, than with fifty that will, off with it I say. _Sir Robert._ Drink Boy, you're fairly hunted. _Jack._ (_Drinks_) Vive l'Amour. _Wildfire._ And so Monsieur Abbé, you say that the French are making great Armaments. _Abbé._ Ver great Marine, Monsieur, ver great Marine. _Jack._ The French are a very politic Nation; they never make a Treaty, but with an Intent to break it, when it suits their Conveniency--so you'll find they will at last give Laws, as Fashions to Europe.