l)
Fling all your scornes, erect an yroon-toothed envy
That she may gnaw the pious stones that hides me.

_Vand_. Ye are too much mov'd, and now too late ye find, Sir,
How naked and unsafe it is for a long Gowne
To buckle with the violence of an Army.
The Emperour _Traian_ challenging a yong man
And a swift runner to try his speed against him,
The Gentleman made answeare sodainely
It was not safe nor fitt to hold contention
With any man commaunded thirtie legions.
You know the Prince and know his noble nature,
I thinck you know his powre, too: of all your wisdomes
This will not show the least nor prove the meanest
In good mens eyes, I thinck, in all that know ye,
To seeke his love: gentle and faire demeanours
Wyn more then blowes and soften stubborne angers.
Let me perswade ye.

_Bar_. When I am a Sycophant
And a base gleaner from an others favour,
As all you are that halt upon his crutches.
Shame take that smoothnes and that sleeke subjection!
I am myself, as great in good as he is,
As much a master of my Cuntries fortunes,
And one to whom (since I am forcd to speak it,
Since mine owne tongue must be my Advocate)
This blinded State that plaies at boa-peep with us,
This wanton State that's weary of hir lovers
And cryes out "Give me younger still and fresher!"
Is bound and so far bound: I found hir naked,
Floung out a dores and starvd, no frends to pitty hir,
The marks of all her miseries upon hir,
An orphan State that no eye smild upon:
And then how carefully I undertooke hir,
How tenderly and lovingly I noursd hir!
But now she is fatt and faire againe and I foold,
A new love in hir armes, my doatings scornd at.
And I must sue to him! be witnes, heaven,
If this poore life were forfeyt to his mercy,
At such a rate I hold a scornd subiection
I would not give a penney to redeeme it.
I have liv'd ever free, onely depended
Upon the honestie of my faire Actions,
Nor am I now to studdy how to die soe.

_Bred_. Take better thoughts.

_Bar_. They are my first and last,
The legacie I leave my friends behind me.
I never knew to flatter, to kneele basely
And beg from him a smile owes me an honour.
Ye are wreatches, poore starv'd wreatches fedd on crumbs
That he flings to ye: from your owne aboundaunce
Wreatched and slavish people ye are becom
That feele the griping yoak and yet bow to it.
What is this man, this Prince, this God ye make now,
But what our hands have molded, wrought to fashion,
And by our constan