may be our owne Justice: he that loses
His Creadit (deere as life) through doubt or faintness
Is guilty of a doble death, his name dies;
He is onely pious that preserves his heire
His honour when he's dead.

_Leid_. 'Tis no great paine.

_Bar_. 'Tis nothing:
Imagination onely makes it monstrous.
When we are sick we endure a hundred fitts,
This is but one; a hundred waies of torture,
And cry and howle, weary of all about us,
Our frends, allyes, our children teadious to us,
Even our best health is but still sufferaunce.
One blow, one short peece of an howre dos this,
And this cures all; maintaines no more phisitians,
Restores our memories, and there's the great cure,
Where, if we stay the fatall Sword of Justice,
It moawes the man downe first, and next his fashion,
His living name, his creadit.

_Leid_. Give me your hand, Sir;
You have put me in a path I will tread strongly;
Redeeme what I have lost, and that so nobely
The world shall yet confes at least I lovd ye.
How much I smile at now theis peoples mallice!
Dispise their subtle ends, laugh at their Justice!
And what a mightie Prince a constant man is!
How he can set his mind aloft, and looke at
The bussings and the busines of the spightfull,
And crosse when ere he please all their close weavings.
Farwell, my last farwell.

_Bar_. A long farwell, Sir.

_Leid_. Our bodies are the earthes, that's their dyvorsse:
But our immortall names shall twyn togeather.

_Bar_. Thus tread we backward to our graves;--but faint not.

_Leid_. Fooles onely fly their peace: thus I pursue it.

[_Exeunt_.

SCAENA 5.

_Enter Grotius & Hogerbeets_.

_Gro_. They have arrested him, _Hogerbeets_?

_Hog_. Yes;
That you all know, _Grotius_, they did at _Utrich_,
But since they have with more severitie
And scorne of us proceeded. Monsieur _Barnavelt_
Walkes with a thousand eies and guards upon him,
And has at best a painted libertie;
Th'Appollogie he wroat so poorely raild at,
(For answeard at no part a man can call it)
And all his life and Actions so detracted,
That he, as I am certenly informed,
Lookes every howre for worsse.

_Gro_. Come, come, they dare not,
Or if they should I will not suffer it;
I that have without dread ever maintaind
The freedom I was borne to, against all
That ever have provoakd me, will not feare
What this old Grave or the new Prince of _Orange_
Dare undertake beyond this, but will ris