Cap. Spoke boldlie, like an Argonaute.
Cou. I am not now in London,
Upon a hall day marching with the puisnes,
Twenty on's in a teame, to Westminster
In our torne gownes, embroiderd with Strand dirt,
To heare the Law.
Cap. Is not thy father dead, thou talkst so well? How I was cosend in thee: come away.
Enter Thomas.
Un. Here's my man Thomas.
Cap. Now the Newes, Sir Tristram.
Tho. Oh the Gentleman is mad.
Un. What gentleman?
Tho. Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night.
Un. With feare of being hang'd for his projections.