De. Who is this?
Lady. 'Tis Sir Francis Courtwell; You cannot choose but know him.—This must bee A favour, Sir, to visit us at parting.
Sir Fr. I came with other expectation, Madam,
Then to heare this: I could receave no newes
So unwelcome. What misfortune doth conclude
The Towne so unhappie?
Lady. 'Tis my husbands pleasure, Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night; For I can guess no other cause.
Sir Fr. Could hee Bee capable of fright and you so neere him?
De. He cannot choose but know me then.—Sir, I kisse your noble hand and shall be stellified in your knowledge.
Sir Fr. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with ribbands?
Sis. He is one of my inamoratos, Sir; They call him Mounsir Device.
Sir Fr. Lady, your faire excuse.—He has, it seemes, Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking That he hath bought so many Bride laces.
Sis. You may interpret him a walking mirth.