Sir Fr.  Could hee Bee capable of fright and you so neere him?

De.  He cannot choose but know me then.—­Sir, I kisse your noble hand and shall be stellified in your knowledge.

Sir Fr.  What thing’s this that looks so like a race Nagg trick’d with ribbands?

Sis.  He is one of my inamoratos, Sir; They call him Mounsir Device.

Sir Fr.  Lady, your faire excuse.—­He has, it seemes, Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking That he hath bought so many Bride laces.

Sis.  You may interpret him a walking mirth.

Sir Fr.  He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread, But that his outside’s brighter.

De.  Sir Francis Courtwell.

Sir Fr.  That’s my name, Sir.

De.  And myne Mounsieur Device.

Sir Fr.  A Frenchman Sir?

De.  No, sir; an English Monsier made up by a Scotch taylor that was prentice in France.  I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee.

Sir Fr.  Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am willing to bestow at this tyme.

Sis.  Take truce a little, servant.

Sir Fr.  Will you consider, Madam, yet how much A wounded hart may suffer?

Lady.  Still the old businesse;
Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive you
If you will promise to sollicite this
Unwelcome cause no more.

Sir Fr.  ’Tis my desire;
I take no pleasure in a pilgrimage. 
If you instruct a nearer way, ’tis in
Your will to save your eare the trouble of
My pleading, Madam, if with one soft breath
You say I’me entertain’d; but for one smile
That speakes consent you’le make my life your servant.

Lady.  My husband, Sir—­

Sir Fr.  Deserves not such a treasure to himselfe And starve a noble servant.

Lady.  You but pleade
For vanitie:  desist, for if I could
(Forgetting honour and my modestie)
Allow your wild desires, it were impossible
That wee should meete more then in thought and shadowes.

Sir Fr.  If these shadowes, Madam, be but darke enough,
I shall account it happines to meet you. 
But referr that to opportunitie,
Which our kind starrs in pitty will sooner offer
To both our ioyes.

Lady.  But he is very Jealous.

Sir Fr.  That word assures my victorie; I never
Heard any wife accuse her husband of
Or cold neglect or Jealousie, but she had
A confirm’d thought within to trick his forehead—­
It is but Justice, Madam, to reward him
For his suspitious thoughts.