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A Room in the Palace. | |
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Enter the Lord Chamberlain and LORD SANDS. | |
| Cham. Is ’t possible the spells of France should juggle | |
| Men into such strange mysteries? | |
| Sands. New customs, | 5 |
| 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 | |
| Have got by the late voyage is but merely | |
| A fit or two o’ the face; but they are shrewd ones; | 10 |
| For when they hold ’em, you would swear directly | |
| Their very noses had been counsellors | |
| 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 | 15 |
| Or springhalt reign’d among ’em. | |
| Cham. Death! my lord, | |
| Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, | |
| That, sure, they’ve worn out Christendom. | |
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Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL. | 20 |
| How now! | |
| What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? | |
| Lov. Faith, my lord, | |
| I hear of none, but the new proclamation | |
| That’s clapp’d upon the court-gate. | 25 |
| Cham. What is ’t for? | |
| Lov. The reformation of our travell’d gallants, | |
| That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. | |
| Cham. I am glad ’tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs | |
| To think an English courtier may be wise, | 30 |
| And never see the Louvre. | |
| Lov. 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 | 35 |
| 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 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. | |
| Sands. ’Tis time to give ’em physic, their diseases | 45 |
| Are grown so catching. | |
| Cham. What a loss our ladies | |
| Will have of these trim vanities! | |
| Lov. Ay, marry, | |
| There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons | 50 |
| Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; | |
| A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. | |
| 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 | 55 |
| A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong | |
| 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? | |
| Lov. To the cardinal’s: | 65 |
| Your lordship is a guest too. | |
| Cham. 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. | 70 |
| Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, | |
| A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; | |
| His dews fall everywhere. | |
| Cham. No doubt he’s noble; | |
| He had a black mouth that said other of him. | 75 |
| Sands. He may, my lord; he 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. | |
| 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, | |
| This night to be comptrollers. | 85 |
| Sands. I am your lordship’s. [Exeunt. | |
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