Enter Willmore, Blunt, Fetherfool, and Hunt, two more in [Campain] Dresses, Rag the Captain’s Boy.
Will. Stay, this is the English Ambassador’s. I’ll inquire if Beaumond be return’d from Paris.
Feth. Prithee, dear Captain, no more Delays, unless thou thinkest he will invite us to Dinner; for this fine thin sharp Air of Madrid has a most notable Faculty of provoking an Appetite: Prithee let’s to the Ordinary.
Will. I will not stay— [Knocks, enter a Porter.
—Friend, is the Ambassador’s Nephew, Mr. Beaumond, return’d to Madrid yet? If he be, I would speak with him.
Port. I’ll let him know so much. [Goes in, shuts the door.
Blunt. Why, how now, what’s the Door shut upon us?
Feth. And reason, Ned, ’tis Dinner-time in the Ambassador’s Kitchen, and should they let the savoury Steam out, what a world of Castilians would there be at the Door feeding upon’t.—Oh there’s no living in Spain when the Pot’s uncover’d.
Blunt. Nay, ’tis a Nation of the finest clean Teeth—