_Fil_. Certain Fools _Galliard_ makes use of when he has a mind to laugh, and whom I never thought worth a visit since I came to _Rome:_ and he’s like to profit much by his Travels, who keeps company with all the _English_, especially the Fops. _Gal_. Faith, Sir, I came not abroad to return with the formality of a Judge; and these are such antidotes against Melancholy as wou’d make thee fond of fooling.--Our Knight’s Father is even the first Gentleman of his House, a Fellow, who having the good fortune to be much a Fool and Knave, had the attendant blessing of getting an Estate of some eight thousand a year, with this Coxcomb to inherit it; who (to aggrandize the Name and Family of the _Buffoons_) was made a Knight; but to refine throughout, and make a compleat Fop, was sent abroad under the Government of one Mr. _Tickletext_, his zealous Father’s Chaplain, as errant a blockhead as a man wou’d wish to hear preach; the Father wisely foreseeing the eminent danger that young Travellers are in of being perverted to Popery. _Jul_. ‘Twas well considered. _Gal_. But for the young Spark, there is no description can reach him; ’.is only to be done by himself; let it suffice, ‘tis a pert, saucy, conceited Animal, whom you shall just now go see and admire, for he lodges in the house with us. _Jul_. With all my heart, I never long’d more for a new acquaintance. _Fil_. And in all probability shall sooner desire to be rid on’t.-- _Allons_. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II. _Draws off to a room in_ Tickletext’s _lodging, and discovers Mr_. Tickletext _a trimming, his Hair under a Cap, a Cloth before him:_ Petro _snaps his fingers, takes away the Bason, and goes to wiping his face_. Tickletext _and_ Petro. _Pet_. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there’s not a Signiora in all _Rome_, cou’d she behold ‘em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for _La Silvianetta_, my life on’t, she’s your own. _Tick_. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest _Barberacho_, do I, do I indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and--hah! _Pet_. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and plump as the pale-fac’d Moon. _Tick_. He--Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man--Why, how admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here--[_Aside_.]--But, _Barberacho_, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik’d me? did she, Rogue? did she? _Pet_. A doated on you Signior, doated on you. _Tick_. Why, and that’s strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady shou’d fall in love with me--[_Aside_.] Why, _Barberacho_, I do not conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a man, hah. _Pet_. Sin, Sir! ‘tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your Complexion. _Tick_. Especially here at _Rome_ too, where ‘tis no scandal.