A Room in the Palace. | |
| |
Enter the Lord Chamberlain and LORD SANDS. | |
| Cham. Is’t possible the spells of France should juggle | |
| Men into such strange mysteries? | 4 |
| Sands. New customs, | |
| Though they be never so ridiculous, | |
| Nay, let ’em be unmanly, yet are follow’d. | |
| Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English | 8 |
| Have got by the late voyage is but merely | |
| A fit or two o’ the face; but they are shrewd ones; | |
| For when they hold ’em, you would swear directly | |
| Their very noses had been counsellors | 12 |
| To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. | |
| Sands. 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. | 16 |
| Cham. Death! my lord, | |
| Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, | |
| That, sure, they’ve worn out Christendom. | |
| |
Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL. | 20 |
| How now! | |
| What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? | |
| Lov. Faith, my lord, | |
| I hear of none, but the new proclamation | 24 |
| That’s clapp’d upon the court-gate. | |
| Cham. What is’t for? | |
| Lov. The reformation of our travell’d gallants, | |
| That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. | 28 |
| Cham. I am glad ’tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs | |
| To think an English courtier may be wise, | |
| And never see the Louvre. | |
| Lov. They must either— | 32 |
| 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; | 36 |
| Abusing better men than they can be, | |
| Out of a foreign wisdom;—renouncing clean | |
| The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings, | |
| Short blister’d breeches, and those types of travel, | 40 |
| 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. | 44 |
| Sands. ’Tis time to give ’em physic, their diseases | |
| Are grown so catching. | |
| Cham. What a loss our ladies | |
| Will have of these trim vanities! | 48 |
| Lov. 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. | 52 |
| Sands. The devil fiddle ’em! I am glad they’re going: | |
| For, sure, there’s no converting of ’em: now | |
| An honest country lord, as I am, beaten | |
| A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong | 56 |
| And have an hour of hearing; and, by’r lady, | |
| Held current music too. | |
| Cham. Well said, Lord Sands; | |
| Your colt’s tooth is not cast yet. | 60 |
| Sands. No, my lord; | |
| Nor shall not, while I have a stump. | |
| Cham. Sir Thomas, | |
| Whither were you a-going? | 64 |
| Lov. To the cardinal’s: | |
| Your lordship is a guest too. | |
| Cham. O! ’tis true: | |
| This night he makes a supper, and a great one, | 68 |
| To many lords and ladies; there will be | |
| The beauty of this kingdom, I’ll assure you. | |
| Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, | |
| A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; | 72 |
| His dews fall everywhere. | |
| Cham. No doubt he’s noble; | |
| He had a black mouth that said other of him. | |
| Sands. He may, my lord; he has wherewithal: in him | 76 |
| Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: | |
| Men of his way should be most liberal; | |
| They are set here for examples. | |
| Cham. True, they are so; | 80 |
| 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, | 84 |
| This night to be comptrollers. | |
| Sands. I am your lordship’s. [Exeunt. | |
