Enter La Buffe.
Rei[naldo.] Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne—
A propertie oth court, that least his owne
Ill manners should be noted thyeks it fytt
In pollycie to scoffe at other mens.
He will taxe all degrees & thynke that that
Keepes hym secure from all taxation.
Orl. Y'are deceyvd; it is a noble gentyllman
And hated of hys father for hys vertues.
Buf. Healthe and all blessinge wherewith heauen and earthe
May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!
Orl. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs
Can ere be heard to my desyred good,
I am not so voyde of humanytie
But I will thancke your loue.
Rei. Pray, Sir, what newse
Hath the courte latterly beene deliverd of?
Buf. Such as the gallymaufry that is fownd
In her large wombe may promise: he that has
The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte
And knowes no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists
Invay agaynst plurallytie of liueinge
And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without
The remedye of sugar candye for't.
Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott
Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes,
I & allmost disjested too assoone.
Oli[ver]. I, but in sober sadnes whatts doone there?
Buf. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes,
For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs
To mere confussyon; nothing there hath forme
But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte
Vice only thrives & merrytt starves in courte.
Rei. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte
Oure fayre eied royall empresse?