airy maid laments the defect of his Chine and he, poore
man, disabled for the trick, endeavours to stifle the noise and company
with perfume of sweat instead of Rose water.

_Lady_. This must be our Countrey recreation, too!

_Enter Sir Francis Courtwell_.

_De_. Who is this?

_Lady_. 'Tis Sir _Francis Courtwell_;
You cannot choose but know him.--This must bee
A favour, Sir, to visit us at parting.

_Sir Fr_. I came with other expectation, Madam,
Then to heare this: I could receave no newes
So unwelcome. What misfortune doth conclude
The Towne so unhappie?

_Lady_. 'Tis my husbands pleasure,
Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night;
For I can guess no other cause.

_Sir Fr_. Could hee
Bee capable of fright and you so neere him?

_De_. He cannot choose but know me then.--Sir, I kisse your noble hand
and shall be stellified in your knowledge.

_Sir Fr_. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with
ribbands?

_Sis_. He is one of my inamoratos, Sir;
They call him Mounsir _Device_.

_Sir Fr_. Lady, your faire excuse.--He has, it seemes,
Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking
That he hath bought so many Bride laces.

_Sis_. You may interpret him a walking mirth.

_Sir Fr_. He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman
To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread,
But that his outside's brighter.

_De_. Sir _Francis Courtwell_.

_Sir Fr_. That's my name, Sir.

_De_. And myne Mounsieur _Device_.

_Sir Fr_. A _Frenchman_ Sir?

_De_. No, sir; an _English_ Monsier made up by a _Scotch_ taylor that
was prentice in _France_. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied
if you please to lay your Comands upon mee.

_Sir Fr_. Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not
trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am
willing to bestow at this tyme.

_Sis_. Take truce a little, servant.

_Sir Fr_. Will you consider, Madam, yet how much
A wounded hart may suffer?

_Lady_. Still the old businesse;
Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive you
If you will promise to sollicite this
Unwelcome cause no more.

_Sir Fr_. 'Tis my desire;
I take no pleasure in a pilgrimage.
If you instruct a nearer way, 'tis in
Your will to save your eare the trouble of
My pleading, Madam, if with one soft breath
You say I'me entertain'd; but for one smile
That speakes consent you'le make my life your servant.

_Lady_. My husband, Sir--

_Sir Fr_.