2 Gent.
You must be forc'd.
Bac.
Sir, you must pardon us, we must obey.
Arb.
Why do you dally there? drag him away
By any thing.
Bac.
Come Sir.
Tigr.
Justice, thou ought'st to give me strength enough
To shake all these off; This is tyrannie,
Arbaces, sutler than the burning Bulls,
Or that fam'd Titans bed. Thou mightst as well
Search i'th' deep of Winter through the snow
For half starv'd people, to bring home with thee,
To shew 'em fire, and send 'em back again,
As use me thus.