Cast by the angel to the pit of fears,
And bound in chains; Truth seldom decks kings ears.
Slave flattery (like a rippiers legs rolled up
In boots of hay-ropes) with kings soothed guts
Swaddled and strapped, now lives only free.
O, 'tis a subtle knave; how like the plague
Unfelt he strikes into the brain of man,
And rages in his entrails when he can,
Worse than the poison of a red-haired man.  
_Henr._ Fly at him and his brood! I cast thee off,
And once more give thee surname of mine eagle.  
_Buss._ I'll make you sport enough, then. Let me have
My lucerns too, or dogs inured to hunt
Beasts of most rapine, but to put them up,
And if I truss not, let me not be trusted.
Show me a great man (by the people's voice,
Which is the voice of God) that by his greatness
Bombasts his private roofs with public riches;
That affects royalty, rising from a clapdish;
That rules so much more than his suffering King,
That he makes kings of his subordinate slaves:
Himself and them graduate like woodmongers
Piling a stack of billets from the earth,
Raising each other into steeples heights;
Let him convey this on the turning props
Of Protean law, and (his own counsel keeping)
Keep all upright--let me but hawlk at him,
I'll play the vulture, and so thump his liver
That (like a huge unlading Argosea)
He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
Show me a clergyman that is in voice
A lark of heaven, in heart a mole of earth;
That has good living, and a wicked life;
A temperate look, and a luxurious gut;
Turning the rents of his superfluous cures
Into your pheasants and your partridges;
Venting their quintessence as men read Hebrew--
Let me but hawlk at him, and like the other,
He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
Show me a lawyer that turns sacred law

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