We know not what a King, incens'd may do,
Especially when he, has power too.
Wherein, wee'le humbly shew unto his Grace,
That for the Kingdoms good, he must displace,
The Lord High Admiral, and too withall,
Prohibit from the Court, the Cardinal.
How that we are so tender, of his ease,
And so unwilling, him for to displease,
That though by his own Laws, they ought to die,
They shall not suffer, that extremity.
But only out of hatred, to their crime,
Be banisht out the Kingdom, for a time.
To which, if he shoo'd please for to consent,
We ought therewith, our selves for to content.
What good wil't do us for to see them die?
'Twill but proclaim to men, our cruelty:
And set the King against us, more and more,
In doing so, then e're he was before.
The chance of war's uncertain, he may get,
The better on't, for ought that we know yet:
Which if he shoo'd, what woo'd become of us,
Him having treated, with all rigour thus?
Zor.
This fear to tell you plainly, is not just,
Nor is it safe, you any more to trust.
Your language is flegmatick, like your Age,
And speaks you Coward, and not very sage.
Shoo'd France, and Spain, and all the world conspire,
To ruine us, and frustrate our desire,
VVe will go on, and make them for to know,
They never yet encounter'd, such a foe.
After such sins, d' you think wee'le be content,
To let them live, although in banishment.