Fount. No such matter.

Val. And take heed how you pity me, ’tis dangerous, exceeding dangerous, to prate of pity; which are the poorer? you are now puppies; I without you, or you without my knowledge? be Rogues, and so be gone, be Rogues and reply not, for if you do—­

Bell. Only thus much, and then we’ll leave you:  the Air is far sharper than our anger, Sir, and these you may reserve to rail in warmer.

Hare. Pray have a care, Sir, of your health. [Ex.  Lovers.

Val. Yes Hog-hounds, more than you can have of your wits; ’tis cold, and I am very sensible, extreamly cold too, yet I will not off, till I have shamed these Rascals; I have indured as ill heats as another, and every way if one could perish my body, you’ll bear the blame on’t; I am colder here, not a poor penny left.

Enter Uncle with a Bag.

Unc. ’Thas taken rarely, and now he’s flead he will be ruled.

Lan. To him, tew him, abuse him, and nip him close.

Unc..  Why how now, Cousin, sunning your self this weather?

Val. As you see, Sir, in a hot fit, I thank my friends.

Unc. But Cousin, where are your Cloaths man? those are no inheritance, your scruple may compound with those I take it, this is no fashion, Cousin.

Val. Not much followed, I must confess; yet Uncle I determine to try what may be done next Term.

Lance. How came you thus, Sir, for you are strangely moved.

Val. Rags, toys and trifles, fit only for those fools that first possessed ’em, a[n]d to those Knaves they are rendred.  Freemen, Uncle, ought to appear like innocents, old Adam, a fair Fig-leaf sufficient.

Unc. Take me with you, were these your friends, that clear’d you thus?

Val. Hang friends, and even reckonings that make friends.

Unc. I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends; do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels, and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your Coats?  I am strangely cozen’d.

Lance. Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things Goth and Vandal, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets, anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into Spanish Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered, as though the Term lay at St. Albans?

Val. Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown like Swallows after Summer.

Unc. Yes, Sir.