War. Right, my gued Lord,’sbred, that Cromwel was th’ faudest limmer Loon that [ever cam into lour] Country, the faud Diel has tane him by th’ Luggs for robbing our Houses and Land.
Fleet. No swearing, my Lord.
War. Weel, weel, my Loord, [I’s larne] to profess and lee as weel as best on ya.
Hews. That may bring you profit, my Lord—but, Clerk, proceed.
Clerk reads.] To [Walter Frost], Treasurer of the Contingencies, twenty thousand Pounds. To Thurloe, Secretary to his Highness—
Duc. To old Noll.
Clerk reads.] —Old Noll, ten thousand Pounds, for unknown Service done the Commonwealth—To Mr. [Hutchinson], Treasurer of the Navy, two hundred thousand Pounds—
War. Two hundred thousand Pound; Owns, what a Sum’s there?—Marry it came from the Mouth of a Cannon sure.
Clerk reads.] A Present to the Right Honourable and truly Virtuous Lady, the Lady Lambert, for Service done to the late Protector—
Hews. Again—say Cromwel.