(The dock guard offends Jaskier by criticizing his lyrics...)
Jaskier: Am I gonna say it? Yeah, I'm gonna say it. You know, if you could write yourself a little song, you could sing yourself whatever you please, but you can't, can you? Because you are a dockside scapegrace, a qualling feculent, a beef-witted, hell-hated, addlepated goon... and a waste of your father's... In all of my... leave it to... And maybe, just maybe, you are grateful to be entertained.
Dock guard: You're an hero to my niece.
Jaskier: Well...
Dock guard: Practically worships you.
Jaskier: Naturally.
Dock guard: She'll be heartbroken to hear her favorite bard is a steaming pile of sh*t for brains.