ng_. Bar out that fiend.

_Onae_. I'le teare him with my nayles!
Let me come in, let me come in! helpe, helpe me!

_King_. Keepe her from following me: a gard!

_Alanz_. They are ready, Sir.

_King_. Let a quicke summons call our Lords together;
This disease kills me.

_Bal_. Sir, I would be private with you.

_King_. Forbear us, but see the dores well guarded.

[_Exeunt_.

_Bal_. Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedome of speech?

_King_. Yes, I will; take it, speake any thing: 'tis pardoned.

_Bal_. You are a whoremaster: doe you send me to winne Townes for you
abroad, and you lose a kingdome at home?

_King_. What kingdome?

_Bal_. The fayrest in the world, the kingdom of your Fame, your honour.

_King_. Wherein?

_Bal_. I'le be plaine with you: much mischiefe is done by the mouth of
a Canon, but the fire begins at a little touch-hole: you heard what
Nightingale sung to you even now?

_King_. Ha, ha, ha!

_Bal_. Angels err'd but once and fell; but you, Sir, spit in heaven's
face every minute and laugh at it. Laugh still and follow your courses;
doe; let your vices run like your kennels of hounds yelping after you,
till they plucke downe the fayrest head in the heard, everlasting bliss.

_King_. Any more?

_Bal_. Take sinne as the English Snuffe Tobacco, and scornfully blow
the smoke in the eyes of heaven; the vapour flyes up in clowds of
bravery, but when 'tis out the coal is blacke (your conscience) and the
pipe stinkes: a sea of Rose-water cannot sweeten your corrupted bosome.

_King_. Nay, spit thy venome.

_Bal_. 'Tis _Aqua Coelestis_, no venome; for, when you shall claspe up
those wo books, never to be open'd againe; when by letting fall that
Anchor, which can never more bee weighed up, your mortall Navigation
ends: then there's no playing at spurne-point[191] with thunderbolts:
a Vintner then for unconscionable reckoning or a Taylor for unreasonable
_Items_ shall not answer in halfe that feare you must.

_King_. No more.

_Bal_. I will follow Truth at the heels, tho her foot beat my gums in
peeces.

_King_. The Barber that drawes out a Lion's tooth
Curseth his Trade; and so shalt thou.

_Bal_. I care not.

_King_. Because you have beaten a few base-borne Moores
Me think'st thou to chastise? what's past I pardon,
Because I made the key to unlocke thy railing.
But if thou dar'st once more be so untun'd,
Ile send thee to the Ga