_Un_. These are extraordinary parts. Alas, a Captaine has but fifty or a hundred at most to looke after, and all they have not so much witt as your _French_ Lacquey. And what need any travaile to instruct them? I can teach them their motions by word of mouth: when they come to fight, my Countrymen will retreate naturally.
_Lady_. Now in revenge could I bee rich, but that I would not be a prisoner to my Chamber. These superstitions will make women doe Strange things sometymes.
_Sis_. Of whome doe you thinke he should be jealous, sister?
_Sis_. I hope he has no suspition of my servants, That, under the pretence of formall Courtship To mee, should ayme at his dishonour: there's One that would weare my livery.
_Lady_. _Device_? Hang him, outside! no, my husband loves His folly and would have him the state foole, His garbes are so ridiculous.
_Sis_. What opinion (Still with a confidence of your cleere thoughts) Holdes he of the Knight Sir _Francis Courtwell_, That often visits us?
_Lady_. Sure a Noble one, If I may aske my Innocence; yet I find Him very amorous. O my husband loves him; He is a powerfull man at Court, whose friendship Is worth preserving. Sister, I confesse His nobleness and person hath prevaild With mee to give him still the freest welcome My modestie and honor would permitt; But if I thought my husband had a scruple His visits were not honourable, I Should soone declare how much I wish his absence.
_Un_. Your Mistresse and my Lady; I have some Affaires require despatch, ile leave you to 'em. [_Exit_.
_Lady_. Most pretious Alamode, Monsir _Device_!
_De_. I blesse my lipps with your white handes.
_Lady_. You come to take your leave as knowing by instinct wee have but halfe an hour to stay.
_Sis_. Wee are for the Countrey as fast as your _Flanders_ mares will trott, sir.
_De_. That's a Solecisme till the Court remove;--are you afraid of the small pox?
_Sis_. The less the better for a gentlewoman.
_De_. And the greater more genty for a Cavallier. By this glove (a pretty embroidery is't not?) you must not deprive us so soone of your sweet presence. Why, there's a Ball to night in the _Strand_ and tomorrow I had a purpose to waite upon you to the pictures; I ha' bespoke regalias[231] there, too. There will be a new play shortly, a pretty Comedy written by a profest Scholler: he scornes to take money[232] for his witt, as the Poetts doe.