Nouall sits in a chaire,
Page. That’s his Perfumer.
Barber orders his haire,
Tayl. Oh deare Lord,
Perfumer giues powder,
Page. That’s his Taylor.
Taylor sets his clothese.
Nou. Monsieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the modell of these clothes? [10]
Aym. Admirably, admirably, oh sweet Lord! assuredly it’s pity the wormes should eate thee.
Page. Here’s a fine Cell; a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a Barber, and a paire of Mounsieurs: 3 to 3, as little will in the one, as honesty in the other. S’foote ile into the country againe, [15] learne to speake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerse with my fathers Tenants; here I heare nothing all day, but vpon my soule as I am a Gentleman, and an honest man.