Firk. Ha, ha, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten[53] damask and velvet.
Eyre. Softly, Firk, for rearing[54] of the nap, and wearing threadbare my garments. How dost thou like me, Firk? How do I look, my fine Hodge?
Hodge. Why, now you look like yourself, master. I warrant you, there’s few in the city, but will give you the wall, and come upon you with the right worshipful.
Firk. Nails, my master looks like a threadbare cloak new turned and dressed. Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment doth! Dame, dame, are you not enamoured?
Eyre. How say’st thou, Maggy, am I not brisk? Am I not fine?
Marg. Fine? By my troth, sweetheart, very fine! By my troth, I never liked thee so well in my life, sweetheart; but let that pass. I warrant, there be many women in the city have not such handsome husbands, but only for their apparel; but let that pass too.
Re-enter Hans and Skipper.
Hans. Godden day, mester. Dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van marchandice; de commodity ben good; nempt it, master, nempt it.[55]
Eyre. Godamercy, Hans; welcome, skipper. Where lies this ship of merchandise?