Well. And call you this defending of your self?
Bac. I call it doing of my self that right, which upon just demand the Council did refuse me; if my Ambition, as you’re pleased to call it, made me demand too much, I left my self to you.
Well. Perhaps we thought it did.
Bac. Sir, you affront my Birth—I am a Gentleman, and yet my Thoughts were humble—I would have fought under the meanest of your Parasites.
Tim. There’s for us, Brother. To Dull.
Bac. But still you put me off with Promises—and when compell’d to stir in my Defence I call’d none to my aid, and those that came, ’twas their own Wrongs that urg’d them.
Down. ’Tis fear’d, Sir, under this Pretence, you aim at Government.
Bac. I scorn to answer to so base an Accusation; the height of my Ambition is to be an honest Subject.
Well. An honest Rebel, Sir—
Bac. You know you wrong me, and ’tis basely urg’d—but this is trifling—here are my Commissions. Throws down Papers, Down. reads.