Sir Fr. He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread, But that his outside's brighter.
De. Sir Francis Courtwell.
Sir Fr. That's my name, Sir.
De. And myne Mounsieur Device.
Sir Fr. A Frenchman Sir?
De. No, sir; an English Monsier made up by a Scotch taylor that was prentice in France. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee.
Sir Fr. Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am willing to bestow at this tyme.
Sis. Take truce a little, servant.
Sir Fr. Will you consider, Madam, yet how much A wounded hart may suffer?
Lady. Still the old businesse;
Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive you
If you will promise to sollicite this
Unwelcome cause no more.