Boy. Ay, you may thank his lordship indeed.
[Aside.
Pen. 'Fore God, this doublet sets in print, my lord;
And the hose excellent; the pickadel[15] rare.
Boy. He'll praise himself in trust with my lord's tailor.
For the next St George's suit.
C. Fred. O, good morrow, tailor;
I abhor bills in a morning.
Pen. Your honour says true:
Their knavery will be discern'd by daylight;
But thou may'st watch at night with bill in hand,
And no man dares find fault with it.
Tailor. A good jest, i' faith. Good morrow to your lordship. A very good jest.
[Exit Tailor.
C. Fred. I wonder my invited guests are so tardy. What's o'clock?
Pen. Scarce seven, my lord.
C. Fred. And what news, Pendant?
What think'st thou of my present marriage?
How shows the beauty to thee I shall wed?
Pen. Why, to all women like Diana among her nymphs.