Un.  No, Sir?

De.  And yet I understand garbes, from the elevation of your pole to the most humble galosh.

Un.  Can your hanches play well in these close cut breeches? they want but a pummell to distinguish ’em from Trouses[230].

De.  O sir, there is a perfect geometry in these breeches; you doe not observe the morality of your fancie, nor the gentile play and poize of your Lemon, Orange or Melon:  this is gentry.  Why, I understand all the curiosities of the Mode to a Mathematicall point, and yet I never travaild in all my life for’t.

Un.  These are extraordinary parts.  Alas, a Captaine has but fifty or a hundred at most to looke after, and all they have not so much witt as your French Lacquey.  And what need any travaile to instruct them?  I can teach them their motions by word of mouth:  when they come to fight, my Countrymen will retreate naturally.

    Enter Ladie and her Sister.

Lady.  Now in revenge could I bee rich, but that I would not be a prisoner to my Chamber.  These superstitions will make women doe Strange things sometymes.

Sis.  Of whome doe you thinke he should be jealous, sister?

Lady.  Of Duke Eneas in the hanging.

Sis.  I hope he has no suspition of my servants,
That, under the pretence of formall Courtship
To mee, should ayme at his dishonour:  there’s
One that would weare my livery.

Lady. Device? 
Hang him, outside! no, my husband loves
His folly and would have him the state foole,
His garbes are so ridiculous.

Sis.  What opinion
(Still with a confidence of your cleere thoughts)
Holdes he of the Knight Sir Francis Courtwell,
That often visits us?

Lady.  Sure a Noble one,
If I may aske my Innocence; yet I find
Him very amorous.  O my husband loves him;
He is a powerfull man at Court, whose friendship
Is worth preserving.  Sister, I confesse
His nobleness and person hath prevaild
With mee to give him still the freest welcome
My modestie and honor would permitt;
But if I thought my husband had a scruple
His visits were not honourable, I
Should soone declare how much I wish his absence.

Un.  Your Mistresse and my Lady; I have some Affaires require despatch, ile leave you to ’em. [Exit.

Sis.  My witty servant!

Lady.  Most pretious Alamode, Monsir Device!

De.  I blesse my lipps with your white handes.

Lady.  You come to take your leave as knowing by instinct wee have but halfe an hour to stay.

Sis.  Wee are for the Countrey as fast as your Flanders mares will trott, sir.

De.  That’s a Solecisme till the Court remove;—­are you afraid of the small pox?