Cow.  Y’are the wiser.

Eust.  Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose to be of your society.

Egre.  By no means.

Eust.  Honour is nothing with you?

Cow.  A meer bubble; for what’s grown common, is no more regarded.

Eust.  My sword forc’d from me too, and still detain’d, you think ’tis no blemish.

Egre.  Get me a Batton, ’tis twenty times more Court-like, and less trouble.

Eust.  And yet you wear a sword.

Cow.  Yes, and a good one, a Milan_ hilt, and a Damasco blade for ornament, not use, the Court allows it.

Eust.  Will’t not fight of it self?

Cow.  I ne’er tri’d this, yet I have worn as fair as any man; I’m sure I’ve made my Cutler rich, and paid for several weapons, Turkish and Toledo’s, two thousand Crowns, and yet could never light upon a fighting one.

Eust.  I’le borrow this, I like it well.

Cow.  ’Tis at your service, Sir, a Lath in a Velvet Scabbard will serve my turn.

Eust.  And now I have it, leave me; y’are infectious, the plague and leprosie of your baseness spreading on all that do come near you; such as you render the Throne of Majesty, the Court, suspected and contemptible; you are Scarabee’s that batten in her dung, and have no palats to taste her curious Viands; and like Owles, can only see her night deformities, but with the glorious splendor of her beauties, you are struck blind as Moles, that undermine the sumptuous Building that allow’d you shelter:  you stick like running ulcers on her face, and taint the pureness of her native candor, and being bad Servants, cause your Masters goodness to be disputed of; you make the Court, that is the abstract of all Academies, to teach and practise noble undertakings, (where courage sits triumphant crown’d with Lawrel, and wisdom loaded with the weight of honour) a School of Vices.

Egre.  What sudden rapture’s this?

Eust.  A heavenly one, that raising me from sloth and ignorance, (in which your conversation long hath charm’d me) carries me up into the air of action, and knowledge of my self; even now I feel, but pleading only in the Court’s defence (though far short of her merits and bright lustre) a happy alteration, and full strength to stand her Champion against all the world, that throw aspersions on her.

Cow.  Sure he’ll beat us, I see it in his eyes.

Egre.  A second Charles; pray look not, Sir, so furiously.

Eust.  Recant what you have said, ye Mungrils, and lick up the vomit ye have cast upon the Court, where you unworthily have had warmth and breeding, and swear that you, like Spiders, have made poison of that which was a saving Antidote.

Egre.  We will swear any thing.

Cow.  We honour the Court as a most sacred place.