Sis.  The less the better for a gentlewoman.

De.  And the greater more genty for a Cavallier.  By this glove (a pretty embroidery is’t not?) you must not deprive us so soone of your sweet presence.  Why, there’s a Ball to night in the Strand and tomorrow I had a purpose to waite upon you to the pictures; I ha’ bespoke regalias[231] there, too.  There will be a new play shortly, a pretty Comedy written by a profest Scholler:  he scornes to take money[232] for his witt, as the Poetts doe.

Lady.  He is Charitable to the Actors.

Sis.  It may be their repentance enough to play it.

De.  You must needs stay and give your opinion.  What will become of me when you are gon, Ladie?

Lady.  If your devotion catch not cold you may breath your Barbary and visit us, where you may be confident of your welcome.

De.  I dare as soone doubt I was Christned.  But pray let us visit the Exchange and take a trifle to weare for my sake before you goe.  What say, Madam? my owne Coach is at dore, the lyning is very rich and the horses are very well matcht.

Lady.  Alas, wee expect upon my husbands returne to take Coach imediatlie.

Sis.  But if wee see you in the Countrey you will doe us an honour?

De.  You invite me to my happines.  I can play well o’ the kittar; I thinke your musique is but course there; wee’le have a Countrey dance after supper and a song.  I can talke loud to a Theorbo[233], too, and thats cald singing.  Now, yee shall heare my Ballet.

Sis.  Did you make a Ballet?

De.  Oh I, the greatest wit lies that way now; a pittifull Complaint of the Ladies when they were banish’d the Towne[234] with their husbands to their Countrey houses, compeld to change the deere delight of Maske and Revells here for Wassail and windie bagpipes; instead of Silken Fairies tripping in the Banquetting Roome, to see the Clownes sell fish in the hall and ride the wild mare, and such Olimpicks, till the ploughman breake his Crupper, at which the Villagers and plumporidge men boile over while the Dairy maid laments the defect of his Chine and he, poore man, disabled for the trick, endeavours to stifle the noise and company with perfume of sweat instead of Rose water.

Lady.  This must be our Countrey recreation, too!

    Enter Sir Francis Courtwell.

De.  Who is this?

Lady.  ’Tis Sir Francis Courtwell; You cannot choose but know him.—­This must bee A favour, Sir, to visit us at parting.

Sir Fr.  I came with other expectation, Madam, Then to heare this:  I could receave no newes So unwelcome.  What misfortune doth conclude The Towne so unhappie?

Lady.  ’Tis my husbands pleasure, Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night; For I can guess no other cause.