Tal.  Why is it cal’d Chests?

Hip.  Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it.

Tal.  I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty, that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly.

Eug.  Specially where the wit of the Goosecaps are in chase my Lord.

Tal.  I am a Goosecappe by the mothers side, Madam; at least my mother was a Goosecappe.

Pene.  And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord.

Tal.  I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne, yee know; the youngest of ten I was.

Hip.  And the wisest of Fifteene.

Tal.  And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, Sir Gyles Goosecappe.

Pene.  Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away, I assure ye.

Tal.  I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you.

Pene.  Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he is the best Sempster of any woman in England:  pray lets see some of his worke?

Hip.  Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little.

Tal.  You shall, a mine honour, Lady.

Eug.  Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his hand will become him prettelie.

King.  From the Spanish Pike to the Spanish Needle, he shall play with any Knight in England, Ladie.

Eug.  But not e converso, from the Spanish needle to the Spanish Pike.

King.  I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to bring it all to the length of a Pike.

Hip.  But no man commends my blount Servant sir Cut.  Rudesby, methinks.

King.  Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it.

Eug.  He saies well to you Hippolita.

Hip.  I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe.

King.  Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he respects, I assure ye.

Hip.  And what’s his living sir Cutbeard?

King.  Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie.

Hip.  I pray doe not tell him that I ask’t, for I stand not upon living.