_Sir_Fr_. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with ribbands? _Sis_. He is one of my inamoratos, Sir; They call him Mounsir _Device_.

_Sir_Fr_. Lady, your faire excuse.-He has, it seemes, Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking That he hath bought so many Bride laces.

_Sis_. You may interpret him a walking mirth. _Sir_Fr_.

He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread, But that his outside's brighter. _De_. Sir _Francis_Courtwell_.

_Sir_Fr_. That's my name, Sir. _De_.

And myne Mounsieur _Device_. _Sir_Fr_. A _Frenchman_ Sir? _De_.

No, sir; an _English_ Monsier made up by a _Scotch_ taylor that was prentice in _France_. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee. _Sir_Fr_.