Goos.  As I am true mortall Knight, it is most superlatively good, this.

Foul.  Why this is courtly now, this is sweete, this plaine, this is familiar, but by the Court of France, our peevish dames are so proud, so precise, so coy, so disdainfull, and so subtill, as the Pomonian Serpent, mort dieu the Puncke of Babylon was never so subtill.

Rud.  Nay, doe not chafe so, Captaine.

Foul.  Your Frenchman would ever chafe, sir Cutt., being thus movde.

Rud.  What? and play with his beard so?

Foul.  I and brystle, it doth expresse that passion of anger very full, and emphaticall.

Goos:  Nay good Knight if your French wood brystle, let him alone, in troth our Ladies are a little too coy, and subtill, Captaine, indeed.

Foul.  Subtill, sir Gyles Goosecappe?  I assure your soule, they are as subtill with their suters, or loves, as the latine Dialect, where the nominative Case, and the Verbe, the Substantive, and the Adjective, the Verbe, and the [ad]Verbe, stand as far a sunder, as if they were perfect strangers one to another, and you shall hardly find them out; but then learne to Conster, and perse them, and you shall find them prepared and acquainted, and agree together in Case, gender, and number.

Goos.  I detest[6], Sir Cutt, I did not thinke he had bin halfe the quintessence of a scholler he is.

Foul.  Slydd there’s not one of them truely emphaticall.

Goos.  Yes, I’le ensure you Captaine, there are many of them truely emphaticall:  but all your French Ladies are not fatt? are they sir?

Foul.  Fatt sir? why doe ye thinke emphaticall is fatt, sir Gyles?

Rud.  Gods my life, brother Knight, didst thou thinke so? hart I know not what it is my selfe, but yet I never thought it was fatt, Ile be sworne to thee.

Foul.  Why if any true Courtly dame had had but this new fashioned sute, to entertaine anything indifferently stuffed, why you should have had her more respective by farre.

Rud.  Nay, theres some reason for that, Captaine, me thinks a true woman should perpetually doate upon a new fashion.

Foul.  Why y’are i’thright sir Cutt.  In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas[7].  Tis the mind of man, and woman to affect new fashions; but to our Mynsatives[8] for sooth, if he come like to your Besognio,[9] or your bore, so he be rich, or emphaticall, they care not; would I might never excell a dutch Skipper in Courtship, if I did not put distaste into my cariage of purpose; I knew I should not please them. Lacquay? allume le torche.

Rud.  Slydd, heres neyther Torch, nor Lacquay, me thinks.

Foul. O mon dieu.

Rud.  O doe not sweare Captaine.