Mod.  This I foresaw.

Bar.  Oh, I am lost with anger! are we falne
So lowe from what we were, that we dare heare
This from our Servants and not punish it? 
Where is the terrour of our names, our powre
That Spaine with feare hath felt in both his Indies? 
We are lost for ever, and from freemen growne
Slaves so contemptible as no worthie Prince,
That would have men, not sluggish Beasts, his Servants,
Would ere vouchsafe the owning.  Now, my frends,
I call not on your furtherance to preserve
The lustre of my actions; let me with them
Be nere remembred, so this government
Your wives, your lives and liberties be safe: 
And therefore, as you would be what you are,
Freemen and masters of what yet is yours,
Rise up against this Tirant, and defend
With rigour what too gentle lenitie
Hath almost lost.

Leid.  Ile to the new raisd Soldiers And make them firme.

Giles.  Ile muster up the Burgers And make them stand upon their guard.

Mod.  For me Ile not be wanting.

Bar.  Ile back to the Hage
And something there Ile doe that shall divert
The torrent that swells towards us, or sinck in it;
And let this Prince of Orange seat him sure,
Or he shall fall when he is most secure.

[Exeunt.

SCAENA 2.

    Enter Holderus, Dutch-woemen and an English Gentlew.

1 D.  W.  Here come the Sisters:  that’s an English Gentlewoman, Let’s pray for hir Conversion.

2 D.  W.  You are wellcom, Lady,
And your comming over hether is most happy;
For here you may behold the generall freedom
We live and traffique in, the ioy of woemen. 
No emperious Spanish eye governes our actions,
Nor Italian jealouzie locks up our meetings: 
We are ourselves our owne disposers, masters;
And those that you call husbands are our Servants.

3 D.  W.  Your owne Cuntry breedes ye hansom, maintaines ye brave, But with a stubborne hand the husbands awe ye:  You speake but what they please, looke where they point ye, And though ye have some libertie ’tis lymitted.

4 D.  W.  Which cursse you must shake of.  To live is nothing; To live admird and lookd at,—­poore deservings But to live soe, so free you may commaund, Lady, Compell, and there raigne Soveraigne.

1 D.  W.  Do you thinck there’s any thing
Our husbands labour for, and not for our ends? 
Are we shut out of Counsailes, privacies,
And onely lymitted our household busines? 
No, certaine, Lady; we pertake with all,
Or our good men pertake no rest.  Why this man
Works theis or theis waies, with or against the State,
We know and give allowaunces.

2 D. W.  Why such a Gentleman,
Thus hansom and thus yong, commaunds such a quarter;
Where theis faire Ladies lye; why the Grave’s angry
And Mounseiur Barnavelt now discontent,—­
Do you thinck it’s fitt we should be ignorant?