Rud.  How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?

Goos.  Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir Moyle, we shall soone our’take him I warrent ye.

Rud.  And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still.

Goos.  But heres all the doubt, sir Cutt:  if no body shoold catch him now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my Horse when he was hot yfaith.

    Enter Fowleweathter.

How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet?

Rud.  Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light.

Foul.  Cods precious, sir Cutt:  your Frenchman never lights I tell ye.

Goos.  Light, sir Cutt!  Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light.

Rud.  Goe too, you French Zanies you, you will follow the French steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground all the daies of your life.

Goos.  Why, sir Cut:  I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but we were justly plagu’d by this Hill, for following women thus.

Foul.  I, and English women too, sir Gyles.

Rud.  Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none of the French Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men in France, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for phantasticality.

Foul.  O Lord sir Cut.  I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for Courtship, and yet the French Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir Gyles.

Goos.  O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence.

Rud.  How did they put them downe, I pray thee?

Foul.  Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir Moile.

Rud.[25] As how, good left-handed Francois.

Foul.  Why Sir when Monsieur Lambois came to your mistris the Lady Hippolyta as she sate in the presence,—­sit downe here good Sir Gyles Goose-cappe,—­he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint French start in his speech of ah bellissime, I desire to die now, saies he, for your love that I might be buried here.