CHAMBERLAIN.
Death! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.

[Enter Sir Thomas Lovell.]

How now!
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?

LOVELL.
Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.

CHAMBERLAIN.
What is't for?

LOVELL.
The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

CHAMBERLAIN.
I'm glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.

LOVELL.
They must either,