Hub.  And will turn it On my own bosom, ere it shall be drawn Unworthily or rudely.

Wol.  Would you leave me
Without a farewel, Hubert? flie a friend
Unwearied in his study to advance you? 
What have I e’re possess’d which was not yours? 
Or either did not court you to command it? 
Who ever yet arriv’d to any grace,
Reward or trust from me, but his approaches
Were by your fair reports of him prefer’d? 
And what is more I made my self your Servant,
In making you the Master of those secrets
Which not the rack of Conscience could draw from me,
Nor I, when I askt mercy, trust my prayers with;
Yet after these assurances of love,
These tyes and bonds of friendship, to forsake me? 
Forsake me as an enemy? come you must
Give me a reason.

Hub.  Sir, and so I will, If I may do’t in private:  and you hear it.

Wol.  All leave the room:  you have your will, sit down And use the liberty of our first friendship.

Hub.  Friendship? when you prov’d Traitor first, that vanish’d,
Nor do I owe you any thought, but hate,
I know my flight hath forfeited my head;
And so I may make you first understand
What a strange monster you have made your self,
I welcome it.

Wol.  To me this is strange language.

Hub.  To you? why what are you?

Wol.  Your Prince and Master, The Earl of Flanders.

Hub.  By a proper title! 
Rais’d to it by cunning, circumvention, force,
Blood, and proscriptions.

Wol.  And in all this wisdom,
Had I not reason? when by Gerrards plots
I should have first been call’d to a strict accompt
How, and which way I had consum’d that mass
Of money, as they term it, in the War,
Who underhand had by his Ministers
Detracted my great action, made my faith
And loyalty suspected, in which failing
He sought my life by practice.

Hub.  With what fore-head Do you speak this to me? who (as I know’t) Must, and will say ’tis false.

Wol.  My Guard there.

Hub.  Sir, you bad me sit, and promis’d you would hear,
Which I now say you shall; not a sound more,
For I that am contemner of mine own,
Am Master of your life; then here’s a Sword
Between you, and all aids, Sir, though you blind
The credulous beast, the multitude, you pass not
These gross untruths on me.

Wol.  How? gross untruths?

Hub.  I, and it is favourable language, They had been in a mean man lyes, and foul ones.

Wol.  You take strange Licence.