bly.

_Unc._ Peace Cousin peace, you are too tender of him, he must be
dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease
_Francisco,_ must not be jested with, 'tis grown infectious, and
now strong Corrosives must cure him.

_Lance._ H'as had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next
his skin comes.

_Unc._ And let it search him to the bones, 'tis better, 'twill make
him feel it.

_Lance._ Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical
opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him?

_Unc._ It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him
off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can
devise how he should get himself lodging, his Spirit must be bowed, and
now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.

_Lance._ Next time we meet him cracking of nuts, with half a cloak
about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing sixpence, to shew his
bounty in the pottage Ordinary?

_Fran._ Which way went he?

_Lance._ Pox, why should you ask after him, you have been trimm'd
already, let him take his fortune, [he] spun it out himself, Sir,
there's no pitie.

_Unc._ Besides some good to you now, from this miserie.

_Fran._ I rise upon his ruines! fie, fie, Uncle, fie honest
_Lance._ Those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take
fire to his destruction.

_Unc._ You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Morrow Uncle, morrow _Frank_, sweet _Frank_, and
how, and how d'ee, think now, how shew matters? morrow Bandog.

_Unc._ How?

_Fran._ Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends?

_Val._ Th'art handsom, _Frank_, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith
thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsom.

_Lance._ Sure he can conjure, and has the Devil for his Tailor.

_Unc._ New and rich! 'tis most impossible he should recover.

_Lan._ Give him this luck, and fling him into the Sea.

_Unc._ 'Tis not he, imagination cannot work this miracle.

_Val._ Yes, yes, 'tis he, I will assure you Uncle, the very he, the
he your wisdom plaid withall, I thank you for't, neighed at his
nakednesse, and made his cold and poverty your pastime; you see I live,
and the best can do no more Uncle, and though I have no state, I keep
the streets still, and take my pleasure in the Town, like a poor
Gentleman, wear clothes to keep me warm, poor things they serve me, can
make a shew too if I list, yes uncle, an