_Rud_. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne. _Foul_. O _Fraunce_, Sir _Cutt_. your Frenchman wood not have taken me so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times to make you merry. _Rud_. As thou doest. _Goos_. Nay good sir _Cut_. you know fooles doe come into your companies. _Rud_. I and thou knowst it too, no man better. _Foul_. Beare off with Choller Sir _Gyles_. _Wil_. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir? _Foul_. I, my good page exceeding faine. _Ia_. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench? _Foul_. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page. _Wil_. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray? _Foul_. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves himselfe. _Ia_. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of all manner of degrees. _Foul_. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not. _Wil_. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter? _Foul_. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes Laxative of Laughter. _Wil_. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an _Epilepsie_, and fall down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a Foole. _Foul_. Thart ith right, my notable good page. _Ia_. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that if he should have all _Bacon_[30] _de sanitate tuenda_ read to him, it shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall. _Foul_. Remercy, my more then English pages. _Goos_. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have never bin in _France_ Captaine. _Foul_. Tis true indeed Sir _Gyles_, well then my almost french Elixers will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say. _Wil_. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at table. _Foul_. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages. _Ia_. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently. _Foul_. Doe so my good wagges. _Wil_. Save you Knights. _Ia_. Save you Captaine. _Exeunt_. _Foul_. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to goe to this Supper? _Rud_. What else? _Goos_. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, Captaine. _Foul_. That we will, I warrent you, sir _Giles_. _Rud_. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.