BOTTOM        Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?

MUSTARDSEED         Ready.

BOTTOM        Give me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good Monsieur.

MUSTARDSEED         What’s your will?

BOTTOM        Nothing, good Monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber’s, Monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.       (4.1.17-26)

All little Mustardseed needs to know is their name: where’s Monsieur Mustardseed? Ready! they pipe up. Give me your neaf, your fist, Monsieur Mustardseed. Fist-bump, my man! Don’t be shy! Pray you, leave your courtesy, good Monsieur. What’s your will? Mustardseed might be somewhat puzzled by this bonhomie, or apprehensive, will this be another baroque honey-bag-related quest? but they have their anxieties allayed: nothing, good Monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. There’s just a bit they can’t quite reach—oh, yes, yes, that’s it, yes!—but I must to the barber’s, Monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face—yes, now I come to think of it, regrowth like you wouldn’t BELIEVE—and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. Yes, YES, don’t stop!