Taf. Come, lov'd Adriana, here let us sit,
And mark who passes. Now, for a wager,
What colour'd beard comes next by the window?
Adri. A black, madam,[332] I think.
Taf. I think not so:
I think a red, for that is most in fashion.
Lord! how scarce is the world of proper men
And gallants! sure, we never more shall see
A good leg worn in a long silk stocking
With a long codpiece: of all fashions,
That carried it, i' faith. What's he goes by?
Enter a Citizen.
Adri. A snivelling citizen: he is carrying ware [Exit.
Unto some lady's chamber: but who's this?
Enter Thomas Small-Shanks reading a letter.
Taf. I know him not; he looks just like a fool.
Adri. He's very brave, he may be a courtier:
What's that he reads?
Taf. Ah! how light he treads,
For dirting his silk stockings! I'll tell thee what,
A witty woman may with ease distinguish
All men by their noses, as thus: your nose
Tuscan is lovely, large and broad,
Much like a goose: your valiant generous nose,
A crooked, smooth and a great puffing nose;
Your scholar's nose is very fresh and raw,
For want of fire in winter, and quickly smells
His chops of mutton in his dish of porridge;
Your puritan nose is very sharp and long
(Much like your widow's!)[333] and with ease can smell
An edifying capon some few[334] streets off.