SHEALTY. Don Honour is the next grand peer of Spain, Whose impress is a courser saliant, Of colour sable, darkening air and earth, Pressing the globe with his disdainful foot, And sallying to aspire to rolling skies: _Non sufficit orbis_ is his haughty word, The world sufficeth not high Honour's thoughts; And on the pendant, fixed on his lance, A hand is catching at the sunny beams: _Et gloriam Phoebi_, and the sun's bright coach Honour would guide, if he might have his will. His page is Action, tempering still with state.
POLICY. Himself Ambition, whom the heavens do hate.
SHEALTY. And Love the lady that he hopes to gain.
POLICY. His thoughts, distract from foul-distempered brain, Proves him the very firebrand[273] of Spain: And in his shield his black disordered beast, Scaling the skies, scornful to tread the ground, And both his words--proud words--prove perfectly Action his page to be but Treachery, Ever attendant on Ambition. But to the third----
SHEALTY. The third grand cavaliero is Government, Severe in justice and in judgment deep: His impress is a naked infant, gor'd Upon a lance, signifying Severity. His word _Pour sangue_; for blood of enemies He bends his forces: on his pendant is A tiger, licking of a bleeding heart; And _Cura cruor_ is the word thereon: His care's for blood of those that dare resist. Yet hight his page, that follows him, Regard, And he for Conscience to this conquest comes.
POLICY. The Government of Spain is Tyranny, As do his impress and his words declare: His page is Terror; for a tyrant fears His death in diet, in his bed, in sleep. In Conscience' spite, the Spanish tyranny Hath shed a sea of most unguilty blood. Well, what's the end?
SHEALTY. The end is, best you yield, Submitting you to mercy of these lords.
POMP. Before we fight? soft, sir; ye brave too fast. Castilians, know that Englishmen will knock. But say, Doth Spanish Pride for London's Lucre gape?
PLEASURE. And would their Tyranny Conscience captive have?
POLICY. Doth their Ambition London's Love affect?
SHEALTY. All this they will, and prey upon your town, And give your lands away before your face. Alas! what's England to the power of Spain? A molehill, to be placed where it pleaseth them.