l, Son; remember me
But not my fortune; let them cry that shall want me.

_Cap_. No man come neere on paine of death: away with him.

[_Exeunt_.

SCAENA 4.

_Enter Orange & 1 Captaine_.[185]

_Cap_. And as I told your Highnes, so wee tooke him.

_Or_. 'Twas with discretion and valour followd.
You were not noted as you made entraunce
Into the _Hague_?

_Cap_. No, Sir; 'twas about midnight,
And few were stirring but the Guard.

_Or_. The better.
Let his being brought in be still conceald, and tell him
If uncompelld he will confes the truth
At _Barnavelts_ Arraignement, that all favour
That I can wyn him shall prepare a way
To quallifie his fault.

_Cap_. Ile work him to it
And doubt not.

_Enter Burgers & Women with bowghs & flowres_.

_Cap_. 'Tis Kramis[186]-time,
In which it is a custome with the people
To deck their dores with Garlonds, Bowghes, and flowres
That are most gratious.

_Or_. I remember.
--Stand close.

[1] _Burg_. Strew, strew: more Garlonds and more Flowres.
Up with the Bowghes! Sacramant, I will have
My noble frends house, Mounseiur _Barnavelts_,
As well deckt as his Excellencies Court,
For though they have got him in prison he deserves
As well as any.

_Cap_. Mark you that.

2 _Burg_. 'Tis said
They will cutt of his head.

1 _Burg_. Much![187] with a Cusshin!
They know he has too many frends.

[2] _Burg_. They dare not.
People will talke: I hope ere long to see him
As great as ever.

[1] _Burg_. Greater too, I doubt not,
And of more powre; his feet upon the necks
Of all his Enemies.

_Or_. I am glad I heard this;
And _Barnavelt_ shall feele I will make use oft.
Come; follow me.
[_Exeunt_.

2 _Burg_. So, now the merry Song
We made for his good Lady. Lustique,[188] hoa!

[Song.

_Enter Wife above_.

_Wife_. All thancks, kind frends, that a sad house can give ye
Pray you receive; for I rest well assurd,
Though theis sports are unseasonable here,
They testifie your loves; and, if my Lord
Ere live to be himself againe, I know
He will remember it.

1 _Burg_. Now for the Daunce, Boyes.

_Wife_. Ther's something for your paines: drinck it, I pray.

2 _Burg_. To a doyt, my vroa, to thy Lords health and thyne.
The Bree[189] for his Excellencie and the Heeres
That love him not. Ten hundred thousand blessings
To him and t