Malo. Good sir, tell me one thing.
Pont. What’s that?
Malo. Dare these men euer fight, on any cause?
Pont. Oh no, ’t would spoyle their cloathes, and put their [110] bands out of order.
Nou. Mrs, you heare the news: your father has resign’d his Presidentship to my Lord my father.
Malo. And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer.
Pont. Troth, ’tis pity, sir.
A brauer hope of so assur’d a father [115]
Did neuer comfort France.
Lilad. A good dumbe mourner.
Aym. A silent blacke.
As if he had come this Christmas from St. Omers.
Nou. Oh fie vpon him, how he weares his cloathes!
To see his friends, and return’d after Twelfetyde. [120]