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Mons. Nor can I drink the damned Englis wine. (Sets down the glass.)
Ger. Yes, to that lady's health, who has commanded me to wait on her to-morrow at her window. I will be an easy fool for once.
Mar. By all means, go.
Ger. Well, monsieur, I'll say this for thee: thou hast made the best use of three months at Paris that ever English squire did.
Mons. Considering I was in a damn Englis pension, too.
Mar. Yet you have conversed with some French, I seefootmen, I suppose, at the fencing-school? I judge it by
Mons. French footmen! Well, well, I had rather have de conversation of a French footman dan of an Englis squire; dere's for you
Mar. I beg your pardon, monsieur, I did not think the French footmen had been so much your friends.
Ger. Yes, yes, I warrant they have obliged him at Paris more than any of their masters did. Well, there shall be no more said against the French footmen.
Mons. Non, de grace! You are always turning de nation française into ridicule, dat nation so accomplee, dat nation which you imitate so, dat in the conclusion you butte turn yourself into ridicule, ma foi! If you are for de raillery, abuse de Dutch—why not abuse de Dutch ? Les gros vilains, pendards, insolents ! But here in your England, ma foil you have more honneur, respect, and estimation for de Dutch swabber, who come to cheat your nation, dan for de French footman, who come to oblige your nation.
Mar. Our nation! Then you disown it for yours, it
Mons. Well, wat of dat? Are you de disobligee by dat?
Ger. No, monsieur, far from it; you could not oblige us or your country any other way than by disowning it.
Mons. It is de brutal country, which abuse de France, and reverence de Dutch. I will maintain, sustain, and justifee, dat one little French footman have more honneur, courage, and generosity, more good blood in his vaines, an mush more good manners and civility, dan all de StateGeneral together, jarni! Dey are only wise and valiant wen dey are drunkee.
Ger. That is, always.
Mons. But dey are never honest wen dey are drunkee; dey are de only rogue in de warld dat are not honest wen dey are drunkee-ma foi!
Ger. I find you are well acquainted with them, monsieur.
Mons. Oui, oui. I have made the tour of Holland, but it was en poste. Dere was no staying for me, tête, non! For de gentleman can no more live dere dan de toad in Ir'land, ma foi! For I did not see on' chevalier in de whole countree. Alway you know de rebel hate de gens de qualité. Besides, I have made sufficient observation of the canaille barbare de first nightee of my arrival at Amsterdamme. I did visit, you must know, one of de principal of de StateGeneral, to whom I had recommendation from England, and did find his Excellence weighing soap, jarni! Ha! ha! ha!
Ger. Weighing soap!
chandeleer; and his lady was taking de tale of chandels wit her own witer hands, ma foi! And de young lady, his Excellence daughter, stringing harring-stringing harring, jarni!
Ger. So! And what were his sons doing ?
Mons. Auh! his son—for he had but one—was making de tour of France, Espagne, Italy, and Germany, in a coach and six; or rader, now I tink on't, gone of an embassy to dere master Cromwell, whom dey did love and fear, because he was someting de greater rebelle. But now I talk of de rebelle, none but de rebelle can love de rebelle. And so mush for you and your friend de Dutch. I'll say no more, but pray, do you say no more of my friend de French, not so much as of my friend, de French footman
Ger. No, no. But, monsieur, now give me leave to admire you, that in three months at Paris you could renounce your language, drinking, and your country—for which we are not angry with you, as I said-and come home so perfect a Frenchman, that the draymen of your father's own brew-house would be ready to knock you on the head.
Mons. Vel, vel, my fadder was a merchant of his own beer, as the noblesse of France of their own wine. But I can forgive you dat raillery, since you say I have de air français. But have I de air français?
Ger. As much as any French footman of them all.
Mons. For you must know, 'tis as ill breeding now to speak good Englis as to write good Englis, good sense, or. a good hand.
Ger. But, indeed, methinks you are not slovenly enough for a Frenchman.
Mons. Slovenly? You mean negligent.
Ger. You know, to be a perfect Frenchman, you must never be silent, never sit still, and never be clean.
-"The Gentleman Dancing Master."
MANLY and LORD PLAUSIBLE.
Man. Tell not me, my good Lord Plausible, of your decorums, supercilious forms, and slavish ceremonies, your little tricks, which you, the spaniels of the world, do daily over and over, for and to one another—not out of love or duty, but your servile fear.
Plaus. Nay, i' faith, i' faith, you are too passionate; and I must humbly beg your pardon and leave to tell you, they are the arts and rules the prudent of the world walk by.
Man. Let'm. But I'll have no leading-strings; I can walk alone. I hate a harness, and will not tug on in a faction, kissing my leader behind, that another slave may do the like to me.
Plaus. What! will you be singular then, like nobodyfollow, love, and esteem nobody?
Man. Rather than be general, like you, follow everybody; court and kiss everybody; though perhaps at the same time you hate everybody.
Plaus. Why, seriously, with your pardon, my dear friend
Man. With your pardon, my no friend, I will not, as you do, whisper my hatred or my scorn; call a man fool or knave by signs or mouths over his shoulder, whilst you have him in your arms. For such as you, like common wenches and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace. Plaus. Such as I! Heavens defend me!
Upon my honour
Man. Upon your title, my lord, if you'd have me believe you.
Plaus. Well, then, as I am a person of honour, I never attempted to abuse or lessen any person in my life.
Man. What, you were afraid ?
Plaus. No. But seriously, I hate to do a rude thing; no, faith, I speak well of all mankind.
Man. I thought so. But know, that speaking well of all mankind is the worst kind of detraction; for it takes away the reputation of the few good men in the world, by making all alike. Now, I speak ill of most men, because they deserve
I it; I, that can do a rude thing rather than an unjust thing.
Plaus. Well, tell me not, my dear friend, what people deserve; I ne'er mind that. I, like an author in a dedication, never speak well of a man for his sake, but my own. I will not disparage any man, to disparage myself; for to speak ill of people behind their backs, is not like a person of honour; and, truly, to speak ill of 'em to their faces, is not like a complaisant person. But if I did say or do an ill thing to anybody, it should be sure to be behind their backs, out of pure good manners.
Man. Very well. But I, that am an unmannerly seafellow, if I ever speak well of people—which is very seldom