Fool: Sire

G: Go on then, what?!

Fool: Sire, me thinks that perhaps its time for your lowly servant to dismiss himself from court.

G: Dismiss yourself from court? What, what?! None of it. What? Now come on man and to something light for us.

Fool: Majesty, it's just that the weather as of late has brought its drab, dreary and oft soaken self to wreak havoc upon my fair state. Unless we can make south from time to time, there's simply little hope for a jester's long life.

G: Not to worry, I'll call for the court doctor. We'll have you back to your juggling and rhymes yet.

Fool: Majesty, you are too kind to concern yourself with me. I think it best to simply drift away and allow some other, more noble fool to entertain your highness.

G: I won't hear of it. Now what's gone on man?

Fool: Sire, if I am not allowed discharge then perhaps I might take time away?

G: Well of course, where to man? Name your destination.

Fool: Paris.

G: Paris what?

Fool: There are doctors there my Lord who specialize in the alleviation of melancholia.

G: I see. Well then get to it man.

Fool: But my Lord, I'm afraid that an Englishman in Paris these days would be considered a dreadful sight.

G: Nonsense. The sun is not so bold as to set on our empire. Our subjects are everywhere.

Fool: My Lord, it pains me to say it, but in spite of your reach to the Iberian Peninsula, and in spite of our numbers to our fallen away cousins' north, the French do go untamed and unbathed throughout Gaul.

G: Yes they always have been indecent.

Fool: And Sire, some have said that they mock us for our lack of oversight. That while, and pardon me for repeating such dastardly whisps, while we were sleeping, or rather, while YOU were sleeping, the French have gone off to have a laugh. And this not such the slight as is the single, trained and distinguished dog left behind to check us. So you see Master, my fate is to waste away.
I shan't retrieve my health again.

G: A dog what? what? Well we shall see about that. And what name have they given such a beast who thinks he can prevent deserved hellfire and calamity on a people so plump with pomp?

Fool: He is called Nukus Ignoramus your excellency.

G: And so he is.