_Vand_. Good Mounseiur Advocate, You are an early stirrer.
_Bar_. 'Tis my dutie To wayte your Lordships pleasure: please you to walke.
_Bre_. The Prince is wanting, and this meeting being Touching the oath he is to take, 'twere fitt That we attend him.
_Bar_. That he may set downe What he will sweare, prescribing lymitts to us! We need not add this wind by our observaunce To sailes too full alredy. Oh, my Lords, What will you doe? Have we with so much blood Maintaind our liberties, left the allegeaunce (How justly now it is no time to argue) To _Spaine_, to offer up our slavish necks To one that only is what we have made him? For, be but you yourselves, this _Prince of Orange_ Is but as _Barnavelt_, a Servant to Your Lordships and the State; like me maintaind; The pomp he keepes, at your charge: will you then Wayt his prowd pleasure, and in that confes, By daring to doe nothing, that he knowes not-- You have no absolute powre?
_Van_. I never sawe The Advocate so mov'd.
_Bar_. Now to be patient Were to be treacherous: trust once his counsaile That never yet hath faild you. Make him know That any limb of this our reverend Senate In powre is not beneath him. As we sitt Ile yeild you further reasons; i'the meane time Commaund him by the Officers of the Court Not to presse in untill your Lordships pleasure Be made knowne to him.
_Bre_. And mine;--yet wee'll proceed As judgement shall direct us.
_Bar_. In this disgrace I have one foote on his neck; Ere long Ile set the other on his head And sinck him to the Center.
_Enter[150] Pr. of Orange, Gra: William, Collonells & Captaines_.
_Or_. 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. Now the blood and kindred Of _Horne_ and _Egmont_ (Memories great Martires), That must outlive all _Alva's_ Tirranies And when their Stories told ev'n shake his ashes, Methincks through theis vaines now, now at this instant, I feele their Cuntries losse; I feele[151] too--
_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.