But for his Perjuries and Knaveries;
And now he sooths my Son-in-law, soft Fleetwood,
With empty hopes of Pow’r, and all the while
To make himself a King:
No, Minion, no; I yet may live to see
Thy Husband’s Head o’th’ top of Westminster,
Before I see it circled in a Crown.
L. Lam. I pity the poor Creature.
Crom. Ungrateful Traytor as he is,
Not to look back upon his Benefactors;