|
|
| Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS |
|
|
 CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle |
|
|
| Men into such strange mysteries? |
|
|
| SANDYS. New customs, |
|
|
| Though they be never so ridiculous, |
|
|
| Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English |
|
|
| Have got by the late voyage is but merely |
|
|
| A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones; |
|
|
| For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly |
|
|
| Their very noses had been counsellors |
|
|
| To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. |
|
|
| SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One |
|
|
| would take it, |
|
|
| That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin |
|
|
| Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord, |
|
|
| Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't, |
|
|
| That sure th' have worn out Christendom. |
|
|
|
|
| How now? |
|
|
| What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? |
|
|
| LOVELL. Faith, my lord, |
|
|
| I hear of none but the new proclamation |
|
|
| That's clapp'd upon the court gate. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for? |
|
|
| LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, |
|
|
| That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our |
|
|
| monsieurs |
|
|
| To think an English courtier may be wise, |
|
|
| And never see the Louvre. |
|
|
| LOVELL. They must either, |
|
|
| For so run the conditions, leave those remnants |
|
|
| Of fool and feather that they got in France, |
|
|
| With all their honourable points of ignorance |
|
|
| Pertaining thereunto—as fights and fireworks; |
|
|
| Abusing better men than they can be, |
|
|
| Out of a foreign wisdom—renouncing clean |
|
|
| The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, |
|
|
| Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel |
|
|
| And understand again like honest men, |
|
|
| Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it, |
|
|
| They may, cum privilegio, wear away |
|
|
| The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. |
|
|
| SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases |
|
|
| Are grown so catching. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies |
|
|
| Will have of these trim vanities! |
|
|
| LOVELL. Ay, marry, |
|
|
| There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons |
|
|
| Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies. |
|
|
| A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. |
|
|
| SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, |
|
|
| For sure there's no converting 'em. Now |
|
|
| An honest country lord, as I am, beaten |
|
|
| A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong |
|
|
| And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady, |
|
|
| Held current music too. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys; |
|
|
| Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. |
|
|
| SANDYS. No, my lord, |
|
|
| Nor shall not while I have a stamp. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas, |
|
|
| Whither were you a-going? |
|
|
| LOVELL. To the Cardinal's; |
|
|
| Your lordship is a guest too. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true; |
|
|
| This night he makes a supper, and a great one, |
|
|
| To many lords and ladies; there will be |
|
|
| The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. |
|
|
| LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, |
|
|
| A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; |
|
|
| His dews fall everywhere. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble; |
|
|
| He had a black mouth that said other of him. |
|
|
| SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him |
|
|
| Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: |
|
|
| Men of his way should be most liberal, |
|
|
| They are set here for examples. |
|
|
| CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so; |
|
|
| But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; |
|
|
| Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, |
|
|
| We shall be late else; which I would not be, |
|
|
| For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford, |
|
|
| This night to be comptrollers. |
|
|
| SANDYS. I am your lordship's. |
|
|
| Exeunt |
|
|
