A Room in the Palace.
 Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDS.

Chamberlain	Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
	Men into such strange mysteries?

Sands									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.

Sands	They have all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it,
	That never see 'em pace before, the spavin,
	A 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.

Chamberlain	I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs
	To think an English courtier may be wise,
	And never see the Louvre.

Lovell							They must either
	- For so run the conditions - leave those remnants
	Of fool and feather that they got in France,
	With all their honourable points of ignorance
	Pertaining thereunto - as fights and fireworks,
	Abusing better men than they can be,
	Out of a foreign wisdom - renouncing clean
	The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings,
	Short blistered breeches, and those types of travel,
	And understand again like honest men,
	Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,
	They may, cum privilegio, 'oui' away
	The lag end of their lewdness, and be laughed at.

Sands	'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
	Are grown so catching.

Chamberlain						What a loss our ladies
	Will have of these trim vanities!

Lovell									Ay, marry,
	There will be woe indeed lords; the sly whoresons
	Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.
	A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.

Sands	The devil fiddle 'em! I'm glad they're going,
	For sure there's no converting of 'em. Now
	An honest country lord as I am, beaten
	A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong,
	And have an hour of hearing, and by'r lady,
	Held current music too.

Chamberlain						Well said, Lord Sands,
	Your colt's tooth is not cast yet?

Sands									No, my lord,
	Nor shall not while I have a stump.

Chamberlain									Sir Thomas,
	Whither were you a-going?

Lovell							To the cardinal's;
	Your lordship is a guest too.

Chamberlain								O, 'tis true:
	This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
	To many lords and ladies; there will be
	The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.

Lovell	That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
	A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
	His dews fall everywhere.

Chamberlain							No doubt he's noble;
	He had a black mouth that said other of him.

Sands	He may, my lord; 'has wherewithal: in him
	Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine;
	Men of his way should be most liberal;
	They are set here for examples.

Chamberlain								True, they are so;
	But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;
	Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,
	We shall be late else, which I would not be,
	For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guilford,
	This night to be comptrollers.

Sands							I am your lordship's.
											[Exeunt.
