Tow. Sir, by your favour, I both must, and will: 
I’ll not so far betray my nation’s right;
We are not here your subjects, but your partners: 
And that supremacy of power, you claim,
Extends but to the natives, not to us: 
Dare you, who in the British seas strike sail,
Nay more, whose lives and freedom are our alms,
Presume to sit and judge your benefactors? 
Your base new upstart commonwealth should blush,
To doom the subjects of an English king,
The meanest of whose merchants would disdain
The narrow life, and the domestic baseness,
Of one of those you call your Mighty States.

Fisc. You spend your breath in railing; speak to the purpose.

Har. Hold yet:  Because you shall not call us cruel,
Or plead I would be judge in my own cause,
I shall accept of that appeal you make,
Concerning my son’s death; provided first,
You clear yourself from what concerns the public;
For that relating to our general safety,
The judgment of it cannot be deferred,
But with our common danger.

Tow. Let me first
Be bold to question you:  What circumstance
Can make this, your pretended plot, seem likely? 
The natives, first, you tortured; their confession,
Extorted so, can prove no crime in us. 
Consider, next, the strength of this your castle;
Its garrison above two hundred men,
Besides as many of your city burghers,
All ready on the least alarm, or summons,
To reinforce the others; for ten English,
And merchants they, not soldiers, with the aid
Of ten Japanners, all of them unarmed,
Except five swords, and not so many muskets,—­
The attempt had only been for fools or madmen.

Fisc. We cannot help your want of wit; proceed.

Tow. Grant then we had been desperate enough
To hazard this; we must at least forecast,
How to secure possession when we had it. 
We had no ship nor pinnace in the harbour,
Nor could have aid from any factory: 
The nearest to us forty leagues from hence,
And they but few in number:  You, besides
This fort, have yet three castles in this isle,
Amply provided for, and eight tall ships
Riding at anchor near; consider this,
And think what all the world will judge of it.

Har. Nothing but falsehood is to be expected From such a tongue, whose heart is fouled with treason.  Give him the beverage.

Fisc. ’Tis ready, sir.

Har. Hold; I have some reluctance to proceed
To that extremity:  He was my friend,
And I would have him frankly to confess: 
Push open that prison door, and set before him
The image of his pains in other men.

  The SCENE opens, and discovers the English tortured, and the
  Dutch tormenting them.

Fisc. Now, sir, how does the object like you?