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Be not so bitter. Bar. We mix with quiet speritts, staid and temperate, And those that levell at not great but good ends Dare hold us their Companions, not their Servants, And in that ranck be ready to supply us. Your Grace is growne too haughtie. Leid. Pardon, great Sir, If those complaine who feele the waight of envy, If such poore trod on wormes make show to turne againe.
Those fyery Speritts next that hatchd in England That bloody Powder-Plot, and thought like meteors To have flashd their Cuntryes peace out in a Moment: Were not their Barrells loden with Religion? Were not they pious, iust and zealous Subiects? Humble your soule for shame, and seeke not now, Sir, To tumble from that happines even Angells Were throwne from for their pride. Confes, and dye well.
Thou soule of Cato, And you brave Romaine speritts, famous more For your true resolutions on yourselves Then Conquest of the world, behold, and see me An old man and a gowne man, with as much hast And gladnes entertaine this steele that meetes me As ever longing lover did his mistris. So, so; yet further; soe. Boy within. Oh! Leid. Sure the Boy wakes And I shalbe prevented. Boy.
Why should I feare then? doubt, and fly before Myne owne weake thoughts? Art thou there, too? Enter Wife and Daughter. Wife. Fy, fy, Sir: Why do you suffer theis sad dead retirements To choake your speritts? You have studied long enough To serve the uses of those men that scorne ye; 'Tis time you take your ease now. Bar. I shall shortly; An everlasting ease, I hope. Wife.
I, now methincks I feele the happynes Of being sproong from such a noble father, That sacrifizd his honour, life and fortune For his lov'd Cuntry. Will. All feele sencibly, And every noble hart laments their miseries, And every eie, that labours not with mallice, Sees your great services and through what dangers You have raisd those noble speritts monuments. Or.
"Last nite I drem't of the cherchyarde at S. I satte under the olde yewe tree, as it semed in my dreme, and hurd a childes voice crying in a very piteous mannerr. The thort of this dreme has oppress'd my speritts all day, and Rebecka has enquier'd more than wunce wot ales me. If little M. but lay nere at hande, in ye graive to wich I fele I must soone be carrid, I beleive I shou'd be happyer.
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