_Pont._ One of ’em there the lower is a good, foolish, knauish sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught 95 my Lord with singing, hee is master of a musicke house: the other is his dressing blocke, vpon whom my Lord layes all his cloathes, and fashions, ere he vouchsafes ’em his owne person; you shall see him i’th morning in the Gally-foyst, at noone in the Bullion, i’th euening in Quirpo, and all night 100 in-- _Malo._ A Bawdy house. _Pont._ If my Lord deny, they deny, if hee affirme, they affirme: they skip into my Lords cast skins some twice a yeere, and thus they liue to eate, eate to liue, 105 and liue to prayfe my Lord. _Malo._ Good sir, tell me one thing. _Pont._ What’s that? _Malo._ Dare these men euer fight, on any cause? _Pont._ Oh no, ’t would spoyle their cloathes, and put their 110 bands out of order. _Nou._ _Mrs_, you heare the news: your father has resign’d his Presidentship to my Lord my father. _Malo._ And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer. _Pont._ Troth, ’tis pity, sir. A brauer hope of so assur’d a father 115 Did neuer comfort _France_. _Lilad._ A good dumbe mourner. _Aym._ A silent blacke. As if he had come this Christmas from St. _Omers_. _Nou._ Oh fie vpon him, how he weares his cloathes! To see his friends, and return’d after Twelfetyde. 120 _Lilad._ His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer. _Nou._ That had a winter ly’n perdieu i’th rayne. _Aym._ What, he that weares a clout about his necke, His cuffes in’s pocket, and his heart in’s mouth? _Nou._ Now out vpon him! _Beau._ Seruant, tye my hand. 125 How your lips blush, in scorne that they should pay Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way! _Nou._ I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white Because your lips robd it of such a right. _Mounsieur Aymour_, I prethy sing the song 130 Deuoted to my _Mrs._ _Cant._ _Musicke._ _After the Song, Enter Rochfort, & Baumont._ _Baum._ Romont will come, sir, straight. _Roch._ ’Tis well. _Beau._ My Father. _Nouall._ My honorable Lord. _Roch._ My Lord _Nouall_ this is a vertue in you. So early vp and ready before noone, 135 That are the map of dressing through all _France_. _Nou._ I rise to say my prayers, sir, heere’s my Saint. _Roch._ Tis well and courtly; you must giue me leaue, I haue some priuate conference with my daughter, Pray vse my garden, you shall dine with me. 140 _Lilad._ Wee’l waite on you. _Nou._ Good morne vnto your Lordship, Remember what you haue vow’d----to his _Mrs._ _Exeunt omnes praeter Roch. Daug._