Enter Slipper, with a Tailor, a Shoemaker, and a Cutler.
Slip. Tailor.
Tai. Sir?
Slip. Let my doublet be white northern, five groats the yard: I tell thee, I will be brave.
Tai. It shall, sir.
Slip. Now, sir, cut it me like the battlements of a custard, full of round holes; edge me the sleeves with Coventry blue, and let the linings be of tenpenny lockram.
Tai. Very good, sir.
Slip. Make it the amorous cut, a flap before.
Tai. And why so? that fashion is stale.
Slip. O, friend, thou art a simple fellow. I tell thee, a flap is a great friend to a storrie; it stands him instead of clean napery; and, if a man's shirt be torn, it is a present penthouse to defend him from a clean huswife's scoff.