_Vand_. All angers are not armd; the lowdest Channell Runs shallowest, and there betrayes his weaknes: The deep & silent man threatens the danger.
_Or_. If they had equall powre to man their wills And hope, to fling their miseries upon us, I that nere feard an Army in the feild, A body of most choice and excellent Soldiers And led by Captaines honourd for experience: Can I feare them or shake at their poore whispers? I that have broke the beds of Mutenies And bowde againe to faire obedience Those stubborne necks that burst the raynes of order, Shall I shrinck now and fall, shot with a rumour? No, my good Lords, those vollyes never fright me; Yet, not to seeme remisse or sleep secure here, I have taken order to prevent their angers; I have sent Patents[182] out for the choicest Companies Hether to be remov'd: first, Collonell _Veres_ From _Dort_; next Sir _Charles Morgans_, a stowt Company; And last my Cosens, the Count _Ernests_ Company: With theis I doubt not to make good our busines; They shall not find us babes.
_Vand_. And now proceed when it please you, and what you thinck fit We shall subscribe to all.
_Or_. I thanck your Honours. Call in the Captaine of my Guard.
_Or_. Now take your rest, my lords: for what care followes Leave it to me.
_Bar_. This from the King of _Fraunce_, of much importance, And this from _Englands_ Queene, both mightie Princes And of immortall memories: here the Rewards sett,-- They lou'd me both. The King of _Swechland_ this, About a Truyce; his bounty, too. What's this? From the Elector Palatine of _Brandenburge_, To doe him faire and acceptable offices: I did so; a rich iewell and a chaine he sent me. The Count of _Solems_, and this from his faire Countess About compounding of a busines: I did it and I had their thancks. Count _Bentham_, The Archbishop of _Cullen_, Duke of _Brunswick_, Grave _Embden_: theis from Citties, theis from Provinces; Petitions theis; theis from the States for places. Have I held correspondence with theis Princes, And had their loves, the molding of their busines, Trusted with their most secreat purposes? Of every State acquainted with the misteries? And must I stick here now, stick unreleevd, too? Must all theis glories vanish into darknes, And _Barnavelt_ passe with 'em and glide away Like a spent exhalation? I cannot hold; I am crackt too deepe alredy. What have I don I cannot answeare? Foole! remember not Fame has too many eares and eyes to find thee! What help, ô miserable man? none left thee. What constant frends? 'tis now a cryme to know thee ... ... ... be death.