Hat.  The Lord Archbishop of Meath, and die by Rats!

Alf.  He did proclaime reliefe unto the poore;
Assembled them unto a private Barne
And, having lockt the doore, set it on fire,
Saying hee’de rid the countrie of such Mice;
And Mice and Rats have rid him from the World.

Hat.  Well, Ile not hurt the poore so publikely,
But privately I’le grinde their very hearts. 
Torture them living, and yet have their prayers,
And by such meanes that few or none shall know it.

Al.  In such a course Alfred would wind with you;
For though I counsail’d you to be more calme,
Twas not in pittie of their povertie
But to avoide their clamour.  To give nothing
Will make them curse you:  but to threaten them,
Flie in your face, and spit upon your beard. 
No devill so fierce as a bread-wanting heart,
Especially being baited with ill tearmes. 
But what course can you take to plague these dogges?

Hat.  Why, buy up all the corne and make a dearth, So thousands of them will die under stalles.

Alf.  And send it unto forraine nations To bring in toies to make the wealthy poore.

Hat.  Or make our land beare woad[171] instead of wheate.

Al.  Inclose the commons and make white meates deare.

Hat.  Turne pasture into Park grounds and starve cattle, Or twentie other honest thriving courses.  The meanest of these will beggar halfe a Kingdome.

Al.  I have a commission drawne for making glasse.  Now if the Duke come, as I thinke he will, Twill be an excellent meanes to lavish wood; And then the cold will kill them, had they bread.

Hat.  The yron Mills are excellent for that.  I have a pattent[172] drawne to that effect; If they goe up, downe goes the goodly trees; Ile make them search the earth to find new fire.

Alf.  We two are brothers, and the Duke’s our brother. 
Shall we be brothers in Commission? 
And Ile perswade him to authorize thee
His substitute in Meath, when he enjoyes it.

Hat.  Death, Ile get thee Regent under him
In Saxonie, to oppresse as well as I.
And we will share the profits, live like Kings,
And yet seeme liberall in common things.

Al.  Content:  what, though the Rats devour’d our brother? 
Was not a Prophet murdered by a Lyon? 
King Herod died of Lice, wormes doe eate us all;
The Rats are wormes, then let the Rats eate me. 
Is the dead course prepar’d?

Hat.  Embalm’d and coffin’d; The Citie keyes delivered to my hands; We stay but onely for his Excellence.

    Enter Constantine.

Con.  The Duke is comming, if it please your honors.

Al.  And he is welcome; let the trumpets sound.

[Second florish.