_St._ Mr. _Littleworth_ tells you right, you weare your hat Too like a citizen. _Lit._ Tis like a Midwife, Place it with best advantage of your haire, Is halfe your feather molted? this does make No shew, it should spread over like a Canopy, Your hot reind Monsieur weares it for a shade, And cooler to his backe, your doublet must Be more unbutton'd hereabouts, you'le not Be a sloven else, a foule shirt is no blemish, You must be confident, and outface cleane linnen Your doublet and your breeches must be allow'd No private meeting here, your cloak's too long, It reaches to your buttocke, and doth smell Too much of Spanish gravitie, the fashion Is to weare nothing but a Cape, a coate May be allowed a covering for one elbow, And some to avoid the trouble, choose to walke In quirpo thus. _St._ Your coat, and cloak's a brushing In Long-lane Lumbard. _Fre._ But what if it raine? _Lit._ Your belt about your shoulder is sufficient To keepe off any storme, beside a reede But wau'd discreetly, has so many pores, It suckes up all the raine that falls about one, With this defence, when other men have beene Wet to the skin through all their cloakes, I have Defied a tempest and walked by the Tavernes Drie as a bone. _St._ Because he had no money To call for wine. _Fr._ Why you doe walke enchanted, Have you such pretty charmes in towne? But stay, Who must I have to attend me? _Lit._ Is not that Yet thought upon. _St._ I have laid out for servants. _Lit._ They are every where. _St._ I cannot yet be furnish'd With such as I would put into his hands. _Fr._ Of what condition must they be, and how Many in number sir? _Lit._ Beside your fencing, Your singing, dancing, riding, and French-master, Two may serve domesticke to be constant waiters Vpon a gentleman, a foole, a pimpe. _St._ For these two officers I have enquird, And I am promisd a convenient whiskin, I could save charges, and employ the Pye wench That carries her intelligence in whitepots, Or tis but taking order with the woman That holds the ballads, she could fit him with A concubin to any tune, but I Have a designe to place a fellow with him That has read all Sir _Pandarus_ workes, a Trojan That lies conceal'd, and is acquainted with Both citty and sub urbian fripperies Can fetch em with a spell at midnight to him, And warrant which are for his turne, can for A neede supply the Surgeon too. _Fre._ I like Thy providence,--such a one deserves a livery twice a yeare. _St._ It shanot need, a cast suite of your worships Will serve, he'le find a cloke to cover it Out of his share with those he brings to bed to you. _Fre._ But must I call this fellow Pimpe? _Lit._ It is Not necessary, or _Jacke_ or _Harry_, Or what hees knowne abroad by will sound better, That men may thinke he is a Christian.