_Inc._ A Master of Ceremonies; At least Vice-Master, and to do nought in _cuerpo_, That was his Maxim, I will tell thee of him: He would not speak with an Ambassadors Cook, See a cold bake-meat from a forreign part In _cuerpo_: had a dog but staid without, Or beast of quality, as an _English_ Cow, But to present it self, he would put on His _Savoy_ chain about his neck, the ruff And cuffs of _Holland_, then the _Naples_ Hat With the _Rome_ Hat-band, and the _Florentin[e]_ Agat, The _Millan_ Sword, the Cloak of _Genoa_, set With _Flemish_ buttons; all his given pieces To entertain 'em in, and complement [_Knock within._ With a tame Conie, as with the Prince that sent it. _Die._ List. Who is there? _Inc._ A guest and 't be thy will. _Die._ Look Spowse, cry luck, and we be encounter'd: ha? _Host._ Luck then, and good, for 'tis a fine brave guest, With a brave horse. _Inc._ Why now, believe of _cuerpo_. _Enter_ Theodosia. As you shall see occasion: go, and meet him. _Theo._ Look to my horse, I pray you, well. _Die._ He shall, Sir. _Inc._ Oh how beneath his rank and call was that now? Your horse shall be entreated as becomes A horse of fashion, and his inches. _Theo._ Oh. _Inc._ Look to the Cavalier: what ails he? stay If it concern his horse, let it not trouble him, He shall have all respect the place can yield him Either of barley, or fresh straw. _Die._ Good Sir Look up. _Inc._ He sinks, somewhat to cast upon him, He'll go away in _cuerpo_ else. _Die._ What, Wife! Oh your hot waters quickly, and some cold To cast in his sweet face. _Host._ Alas, fair flower? _Die._ Does any body entertain his Horse? _Host._ Yes, _Lazaro_ has him. _Enter_ Hostess _with a glass of water_. _Inc._ Go you see him in person. _Host._ Sir, taste a little of this, of mine own water, I did distill't my self; swe[e]t Lilly look upon me, You are but newly blown, my pretty Tulip. Faint not upon your stalk, 'tis firm and fresh Stand up so bolt upright, you are yet in growing. _The._ Pray you let me have a chamber. _Host._ That you shall, Sir. _The._ And where I may be private, I intreat you. _Host._ For that in troth Sir, we ha no choice: our house Is but a _vent_ of need, that now and then Receives a guest, between the greater Towns As they come late; only one room. _Inc._ She means, Sir, it is none Of those wild, scatter'd heaps, call'd Inns, where scarce The Host is heard, though he wind his horn t' his people, Here is a competent pile, wherein the man, Wife, Servants, all do live within the whistle. _Host._ Only one room. _Inc._ A pretty modest quadrangle She will describe to you. _Host._ Wherein stands two Beds Sir.