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, o miserable man? none left thee. 
What constant frends? ’tis now a cryme to know thee
... ... ... be death.

    Enter Servant.

Serv.  My Lady would entreat, Sir—­

Bar.  My head?  What art thou? from whom sent?

Serv.  Heaven blesse me!

Bar.  Are they so greedy of my blood?—­O, pardon me:  I know thee now; thou art my honest Servant.  What would thy Lady?

Serv.  Your Company to supper, Sir.

Bar.  I cannot eate; I am full alredy, tell hir: 
Bid hir sitt downe:  full, full, too full. [Exit Serv. 
My thancks
Poyzd equally with those faire services
I have done the States, I should walk confidently
Upon this high-straind danger.  O, this end swayes me,
A heavy bad opinion is fixt here
That pulls me of; and I must downe for ever.

    Enter Daughter[183]

Daught.  Sir, will it please ye—­

Bar.  Ha!

Daught.  Will it please ye, Sir—­

Bar.  Please me! what please me?—­that I send thee, Girle, To some of my great Masters to beg for me.  Didst thou meane so?

Daught.  I meane, Sir—­

Bar.  Thou art too charitable
To prostitute thy beutie to releeve me;
With thy soft kisses to redeeme from fetters
The stubborne fortune of thy wretched father.

Daught.  I understand ye not.

Bar.  I hope thou do’st not.

Daught.  My Lady Mother, Sir—­

Bar.  Prethee, good Girle,
Be not so cruell to thy aged father
To somme up all his miseries before him.

Daught.  I come, Sir, to entreat your Company.

Bar.  I am not alone.

Daught.  My Mother will not eate, Sir.  —­What fitt is this!

Bar.  There can be no attonement: 
I know the Prince:  Vandort is fleshd upon me,
And Bredero, though he be of noble nature,
Dare not step in.  Wher’s my Son William? 
His Goverment is gon, too; and the Soldier,
O, the falce Soldier!  What! wouldst thou have a husband? 
Goe, marry an English Captaine, and hee’ll teach thee
How to defy thy father and his fortune.—­
I cannot eate; I have no stomach, Girle.

Daught.  Good Sir, be patient.

Bar.  No news from Grotius?  No flow of frends there? Hoger-beets lye still, too?  —­Away:  ile come anon.

Daught.  Now heaven preserve ye! [Exit.