Has render’d me the rubbish of the World;
Whilst new rais’d Rascals, Canters, Robbers, Rebels,
Do lord it o’er the Free-born, Brave and Noble.
L. Lam. You’re very confident, know you to whom you speak? but I suppose you have lost your Estate, or [some such trivial thing], which makes you angry.
Lov. Yes, a trivial Estate of some five and twenty hundred Pound a Year: but I hope to see that Rogue of a Lord reduc’d to his [Cobler’s-Stall] again, or more deserv’dly hang’d, that has it.
L. Lam. I thought ’twas some such Grievance—but you must keep a good Tongue in your Head, lest you be hang’d for Scandalum Magnatum—there’s Law for ye, Sir.
Lov. No matter, then I shall be free from a damn’d Commonwealth, as you are pleas’d to call it, when indeed ’tis but a mungrel, mangy, Mock-Monarchy.
L. Lam. Is it your business, Sir, to rail?
Lov. You rais’d the Devil, Madam.
Page. Madam, shall I call your Highness’s Guards, and secure the Traitor?