Duc. Ten thousand Pound a Year in Bribes will do as well.
Lam. Bribes are not so frequent now as in Old Noll’s Days.
Hews. Well, my Lord, let us be brief and tedious, as the saying is, and humour one another: I’m for Whitlock’s Advance.
Lam. I move for a Salary, Gentlemen, [Scobel] and other petty Clerks have had a thousand a Year; my Lord sure merits more.
Hews. Why—let him have two thousand then.
Fleet. I profess ingeniously, with all my Heart.
Whit. I humbly thank your Lordships—but, if I may be so bold to ask, from whence shall I receive it?
Lam. Out of the Customs.
Cob. Brotherly Love ought to go along with us—but, under favour, when this is gone, where shall we raise new Supplies?
Lam. We’ll tax the Nation high, the City higher, They are our Friends, our most obsequious Slaves, Our Dogs to fetch and carry, our very Asses—