London. The palace
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.
Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL 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