ot talke much?

_Pro_. Litle or nothing, Sir.

_Bar_. Nor wrighte?

_Pro_. Not any thing,
Yet I have charge to give him those free uses.

_Bar_. Doe you keep him close?

_Pro_. Not so close, and't like your Lordship,
But you may see and speake with him.

_Bar_. I thanck ye.

_Pro_. Pray ye give me leave; Ile send him to your Honour.
[_Exit_.

_Bar_. Now, _Barnavelt_, thou treadst the subtlest path,
The hardest and the thorniest, most concernes thee,
That ere thy carefull course of life run through:
The Master peece is now a foot, which if it speed
And take but that sure hold I ayme it at,
I make no doubt but once more, like a Comet,
To shine out faire and blaze prodigiously
Even to the ruyn of those men that hate me.

_Enter Leidenberch_.

--I am sorry for your fortune.

_Leid_. 'Tis a sad one
And full of burthen, but I must learne to beare it.
How stands your State?

_Bar_. Upon a ball of yce
That I can neither fix, nor fall with safetie.

_Leid_. The heavie hand of heaven is now upon us
And we exposd, like bruizd and totterd vessells,
To merciles and cruell Seas to sinck us.

_Bar_. Our Indiscreations are our evill fortunes,
And nothing sincks us but [our] want of providence.
O you delt coldly, Sir, and too too poorely,
Not like a man fitt to stem tides of dangers,
When you gave way to the Prince to enter _Utrecht_.
There was a blow, a full blow at our fortunes;
And that great indiscreation, that mayne blindnes,
In not providing such a constant Captaine,
One of our owne, to commaund the watch, but suffer
The haughtie _English_ to be masters of it,--
This was not well nor fitting such a wisdom,
Not provident.

_Leid_. I must confes my errour;
The beastly coldnes of the drowsy Burgers
Put me past all my aymes.

_Bar_. O, they are sweet Jewells!
He that would put his confidence in Turnops[173]
And pickled Spratts--Come, yet resume your Courage,
Pluck up that leaden hart and looke upon mee;
_Modesbargen's_ fledd, and what we lockt in him
Too far of from their subtle keys to open,
Yf we stand constant now to one another
And in our soules be true.

_Leid_. That comes too late, Sir,
Too late to be redeemd: as I am unfortunate
In all that's gone before, in this--

_Bar_. What?

_Leid_. O,
In this, this last and greatest--

_Bar_. Speake.

_Leid_. Most miserable.
I have confessd. Now let your eies shoot through me
And if there b