_Des._ A Dad, and all little enough.
_Free._ The Devil do him good with it.
_Des._ Had not the Lard put it into your Hearts to have given me two thousand _per Annum_ out of Bishops Lands, and three thousand _per Annum_ out of the Marquess's Estate; how shou'd I have liv'd and serv'd the Commonwealth as I have done?
_Free._ A plague confound his Honour, he makes a hard shift to live on Eight thousand Pound a Year, who was born and bred a Hedger.
_Lov._ Patience, Friend.
_Lam._ I have been thinking-- but I'll find out a way.
_Lov._ Or betray some honest Gentleman, on purpose to gratify the Loone.
_Lam._ And, Gentlemen, I am bound in Honour and Conscience to speak in behalf of my Lord _Whitlock_; I think fit, if you agree with me, he shou'd be made Constable of _Windsor_ Castle, Warden of the Forest, with the Rents, Perquisities, and Profits thereto belonging; nor can your Lordships confer a Place of greater Trust and Honour in more safe Hands.
_Due._ I find he wou'd oblige all to his side. [Aside.
Has he not part of the Duke of _Buckingham's Estate_ already, with _Chelsey_ House, and several other Gifts?
_Lam._ He has dearly deserv'd 'em; he has serv'd our Interest well and faithfully.
_Due._ And he has been well paid for't.
_Whit._ And so were you, Sir, with several Lordships, and Bishops Lands, you were not born to, I conceive.
_Duc._ I have not got it, Sir, by knavish Querks in Law; a Sword that deals out Kingdoms to the brave, has cut out some small parcels of Earth for me. And what of this?
[Stands up in a heat.
_Whit._ I think, Sir, he that talks well, and to th' purpose, may be as useful to the Commonwealth as he that fights well. Why do we keep so many else in Pension that ne'er drew Sword, but to talk, and rail at the malignant Party; to libel and defame 'em handsomly, with pious useful Lyes, Which pass for Gospel with the common Rabble, And edify more than _Hugh Peter's_ Sermons; And make Fools bring more Grist to the publick Mill.
Then, Sir, to wrest the Law to our convenience Is no small, inconsiderate Work.
_Free._ And which you may be hang'd for very shortly-- [Aside.
_Lam._ 'Tis granted, my Lord, your Merit's infinite-- We made him Keeper of the Great Seal, 'tis true, 'tis Honour, but no Salary.
_Duc._ Ten thousand Pound a Year in Bribes will do as well.
_Lam._ Bribes are not so frequent now as in Old _Noll's_ Days.
_Hews._ Well, my Lord, let us be brief and tedious, as the saying is, and humour one another: I'm for _Whitlock's_ Advance.
_Lam._ I move for a Salary, Gentlemen, _Scobel_ and other petty Clerks have had a thousand a Year; my Lord sure merits more.
_Hews._ Why-- let him have two thousand then.
_Fleet._ I profess ingeniously, with all my Heart.
_Whit._ I humbly thank your Lordships-- but, if I may be so bold to ask, from whence shall I receive it?
_Lam._ Out of the Customs.
_Cob._ Brotherly Love ought to go along with us-- but, under favour, when this is gone, where shall we raise new Supplies?
_Lam._ We'll tax the Nation high, the City higher, They are our Friends, our most obsequious Slaves, Our Dogs to fetch and carry, our very Asses--
_Lov._ And our Oxes, with the help of their Wives. [Aside.
_Lam._ Besides, the City's rich, and near her time, I hope, of being deliver'd.
_War._ Wons a gued, wad I'd the laying o' her, she shou'd be sweetly brought to Bed, by my Sol.
_Des._ The City cares for no _Scotch_ Pipers, my Lord.
_War._ By my Sol, but she has danc'd after the gued Pipe of Reformation, when the Covenant Jigg gang'd maryly round, Sirs.
_Clerk._ My Lords, here are some poor malignant Petitioners.
_Lam._ Oh, turn 'em out, here's nothing for 'em; these Fellows were petitioning my Lady to day-- I thought she had given you a satisfactory Answer,
_Lov._ She did indeed, my Lord: but 'tis a hard Case, to take away a Gentleman's Estate, without convicting him of any Crime.
_Lam._ Oh, Sir, we shall prove that hereafter.
_Lov._ But to make sure Work, you'll hang a Man first and examine his Offence afterwards; a Plague upon your Consciences: My Friend here had a little fairer Play; your Villains, your Witnesses in Pension swore him a Colonel for our glorious Master, of ever blessed Memory, at eight Years old; a Plague upon their Miracles.
_Fleet._ Ingeniously, Sirrah, you shall be pillory'd for defaming our reverend Witnesses: Guards, take 'em to your Custody both.
_Free._ Damn it, I shall miss my Assignation with Lady _Desbro_; a Pox of your unnecessary prating, what shall I do?
[Guards take 'em away.
_Lam._ And now, my Lords, we have finished the Business of the Day.
My good Lord _Fleetwood_, I am entirely yours, and at our next sitting shall approve my self your Creature--
_Whit._ My good Lord, I am your submissive Vassal.
_War._ Wons, my Lord, I scorn any Man shou'd be mere yare Vassal than Archibald Johnson.
[To _Fleetwood_.
[Ex. All.
SCENE II. _A Chamber in Lady _Desbro's_ House._
Enter La. _Desbro_, and _Corporal_ in haste.
_L. Des._ Seiz'd on, secur'd! Was there no time but this? What made him at the Committee, or when there why spoke he honest Truth? What shall I do, good Corporal? Advise; take Gold, and see if you can corrupt his Guards: but they are better paid for doing Mischief; yet try, their Consciences are large.
[Gives him Gold.
_Cor._ I'll venture my Life in so good a Cause, Madam. [Exit.