Ra. Bring me my Boots, I am to ride out.
Sy. Here they are, Sir.
Ra. You have look'd after them bravely, they are all over mouldy with lying by; I believe they han't been clean'd nor greased this twelve Months Day; they are so dry, they chap again; wipe them with a wet Cloth, and liquor them well before the Fire, and chafe them till they grow soft.
Sy. It shall be done, Sir.
Ra. Where are my Spurs?
Sy. Here they are.
Ra. Ay, here they are indeed, but all eaten up with Rust. Where is my Bridle and Saddle?
Sy. They are just by.
Ra. See that nothing is wanting or broken, or ready to break, that nothing may be a Hinderance to us, when we are upon our Journey. Run to the Sadlers, and get him to mend that Rein: When you come back, look upon the Horses Feet, and Shoes, and see if there be any Nails wanting, or loose. How lean and rough these Horses are! How often do you rub 'em down, or kemb them in a Year?
Sy. I'm sure I do it every Day?