CHAMBERLAIN.
Is’t possible the spells of France should juggle
Men into such strange mysteries?
SANDYS.
New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous—
Nay, let ’em be unmanly—yet are followed.
CHAMBERLAIN.
As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage is but merely
A fit or two o’ th’ face; but they are shrewd ones,
For when they hold ’em, you would swear directly
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.
SANDYS.
They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,
That never saw ’em pace before, the spavin
Or springhalt reigned among ’em.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Death! My lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to’t,
That, sure, they’ve worn out Christendom.
Enter Sir Thomas Lovell.
How now?
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
LOVELL.
Faith, my lord,
I hear of none but the new proclamation
That’s clapped upon the court gate.
CHAMBERLAIN.
What is’t for?
LOVELL.
The reformation of our travelled gallants
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.