(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.