_Enter Goosecappe, Rudesby, Fouleweather, Eugenia,
Hippol., Penelope, Wynne_.
_Rud_. A plague on you, sweet Ladies, tis not so late; what needed you
to have made so short a supper?
_Goos_. In truth Sir _Cutt_. we might have tickled the vanity ant an
howre longer, if my watch be trustible.
_Foul_. I but how should theis beauties know that Sir _Gyles_? your
watch is mortall, and may erre.
_Go_. Thats sooth Captaine, but doe you heare honest friend, pray take a
light, and see if the moone shine, I have a Sunne Diall will resolue
presently.
_Fo_. Howsoever beleeve it, Ladies, tis unwholesome, uncourtly,
unpleasant to eate hastely, and rise sodainly; a man can shew no
discourse, no witt, no stirring, no variety, no pretty conceits, to make
the meate goe downe emphatically.
_Eu_. _Wynnefred_.
_Wyn_. Madam.
_Eu_. I prethee goe to my uncle the Lord _Monford_, and intreat him to
come quicken our Eares with some of his pleasant Spirit; This same
_Fowleweather_ has made me so melancholly, prethie make haste.
_Wyn_. I will Madam. [_Exit_.
_Hip_. We will bid our guests good night, Madam; this same
_Fowleweather_ makes me so sleepy.
_Pen_. Fie uppon it; for Gods sake shut the Casements, heres such a
fulsome Aire comes into this Chamber; in good faith Madame you must
keepe your House in better reparations, this same _Fowlweather_ beats
in so filthily.
_Eug_. Ile take order with the Porter for it, Lady: good night,
gentlemen.
_Ru_. Why good night, and be hangd, and you'l needs be gon.
_Goos_. God give you good night Madams, thanke you for my good cheere,
weele tickle the vanity ant no longer with you at this time but ile
indite your La. to supper at my lodging one of these mornings; and that
ere long too, because we are all mortall you know.
_Eu_, Light the Lady _Penelope_, and the Lady _Hippolyta_ to their
Chambers; good night faire Ladies.
_Hip_. Good night, Madam; I wish you may sleep well after your light
supper.
_Eug_, I warrant you, Lady, I shall never be troubled with dreaming of
my _French_ Suter.
[_Exeunt_.
_Ru_. Why how now my _Frenchified_ captain _Fowlweather_? by Cods ludd
thy Surname is never thought upon here, I perceive heeres nobody gives
thee any commendations.
_Fo_. Why this is the untravaild rudnes of our grose Englesh Ladies now;
would any _French_ Lady use a man thus thinke ye? be they any way so
uncivill, and fulsome? they say they weare fowle smockes, and course
smockes; I say they lie, and I will die int.
_Rud_. I, doe so, pray thee, thou shalt die in a very honorable cause,
thy countries generall quarrell right.
_Foul_. Their smockes, quoth you? a my word you shall take them up so
white, and so pure, so sweet, so Emphaticall, so mooving--
_Rud_. I marry Sir, I thinke they be continually moving.
_Foul_. But if their smockes were course or foule.
_Rud_. Nay I warrant thee thou carest not, so thou wert at them.
_Foul_. S'death they put not all their virtues in their smockes, or in
their mockes, or in their stewde cockes as our Ladies doe.
_Rud_. But in their stewd pox, thers all their gentilitie.
_Goos_. Nay, good Sir _Cutt_., doe not agravate him no more.
_Foul_. Then they are so kinde, so wise, so familiar, so noble, so sweet
in entertainment, that when you shall have cause to descourse or
sometimes to come neerer them; if your breath be ill, your teeth ill, or
any thing about you ill, why they will presently breake with ye, in
kinde sort, good termes, pretty experiments, and tell you plaine this;
thus it is with your breath, Sir, thus it is with your teeth, Sir, this
is your disease, and this is your medicine.
_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.
_Foul_. Your Frenchman ever sweares, Sir _Cutt_, upon the lacke of his
Lacquay, I assure you.
_Goos_. See heere he comes, and my Ladies two pages, they have been
tickling the vanity ont yfaith.