Lov. If Lightning stop my way:—
Perhaps a sober View may make me hate her. [[Exeunt both.]
[ Scene II.] [A Chamber in Lambert’s House.]
Enter Lambert and Whitlock.
Whit. My Lord, now is your time, you may be King; Fortune is yours, you’ve time it self by th’ Fore-lock.
Lam. If I thought so, I’d hold him fast, by Heaven.
Whit. If you let slip this Opportunity, my Lord, you are undone—Aut Cæsar, aut Nullus.
Lam. But Fleetwood—
Whit. Hang him, soft Head.
Lam. True, he’s of an easy Nature; yet if thou didst but know how little Wit governs this mighty Universe, thou wou’dst not wonder Men should set up him.