Hen.  “Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killed him!”

[Within, Man] Buzzano!

Hen.  He’s up.

[Man.] Buzzano!

Buz.  I come.

Hen.  Helpe to make him ready,[34] but not a word on thy life.

Buz.  Mum. [Exit.

Hen.  So let it worke; thus far my wheeles goe true. 
Because a Captaine, leading up his men
In the proud van, has honour above them,
And they his vassailes; must my elder brother
Leave me a slave to the world? & why, forsooth? 
Because he gott the start in my mother’s belly,
To be before me there.  All younger brothers
Must sitt beneath the salt[35] & take what dishes
The elder shoves downe to them.  I doe not like
This kind of service:  could I, by this tricke,
Of a voice counterfeited & confessing
The murther of my father, trusse up this yonker
And so make my selfe heire & a yonger brother
Of him, ’twere a good dayes worke.  Wer’t not fine angling? 
Hold line and hook:  Ile puzzle him.

    Enter Manuell & Buzzano.

Man.  Morrow, brother.

Hen.  Oh, good morrow:  you have slept soundly.

Man.  Travellers that are weary have sleepe led in a string.

Buz.  So doe those that are hangd:  all that travell & are weary doe not sleepe.

Man.  Why, Mr. Buzzano, why?

Buz.  Midwives travell at night & are weary with eating groaning pyes[36], & yet sleepe not:  shall I hooke you?

Man.  Hooke me? what meanst?

Buz.  These Taylors are the wittyest knaves that live by bread.

Hen.  And why witty, out of your wisdome?

Buz.  In old time gentlemen would call to their men & cry, “Come, trusse me”:  now the word is “Come, hooke me”; for every body now lookes so narrowly to Taylors bills (some for very anger never paying them) that the needle lance knights, in revenge of those prying eyes, put so many hookes & eyes to every hose & dubblet.

Man.  Well, sir, Ile not be hookd then now.

Buz.  Tis well if you be not. [Exit.

Hen. France is an excellent country.

Man.  Oh, a brave one.

Hen.  Your Monsieurs gallant sparkes.

Man.  Sparkes? oh, sir, all fire,
The soule of complement, courtship & fine language;
Witty & active; lovers of faire Ladyes,
Short naggs & English mastives; proud, fantasticke,
Yet such a pride & such fantasticknes,
It so becomes them, other Nations
(Especially the English) hold themselves
No perfect gentlemen till frenchifyed.

Hen.  Tush, England breeds more apes than Barbary.—­ How chance my father came not home with you?