A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III | Page 5

and drinke with us
yfaith.
Bul. _Pardonne moy, mounsieur_.
both. No pardoning in truth Sir.
_Bul. Ie vous remercie de bon Ceur_.
[Exeunt.

SCAENA 2.
_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