1 Sold. A sniveling Fool; a General in the Hangings, no better.
Joy. What think you then of [Vane]?
2 Sold. As of a Fool, that has dreamt of a new Religion, and is only fit to reign in the [Fifth Monarchy] he preaches so much up? but no King in this Age.
Felt. What of [Haslerig]?
2 Sold. A Hangman for Haslerig. I cry, No, no, One and all, a Lambert, a Lambert; he is our General, our Protector, our Keiser, our—even what he pleases himself.
1 Sold. Well, if he pleases himself, he pleases me.
2 Sold. He’s our Rising Sun, and we’ll adore him, for the Speaker’s Glory’s set.
Cor. At nought, Boys; how the Rogue look’d when his Coach was stop’d!
Joy. Under favour, what said the Speaker?
2 Sold. What said he? prithee, what cou’d he say that we wou’d admit for Reason? Reason and our Bus’ness are two things: Our Will was Reason and Law too, and the Word of Command lodg’d in our Hilts: Cobbet and Duckenfield shew’d ’em Cockpit-Law.