Enter Devitry.
Theod. What laught you at Sir?
Vitry. I have some occasion,
I should not else; And the same cause perhaps
That makes me do so, may beget in you
A contrary effect.
Theod. Why, what's the matter?
Vitry. I see and joy to see that sometimes poor men,
(And most of [such] are good) stand more indebted
For [meanes] to breathe to such as are held vitious,
Than those that wear, like Hypocrites on their foreheads,
Th'ambitious titles of just men and vertuous.
Mart. Speak to the purpose.
Vitry. Who would e'er have thought
The good old Queen, your Highness reverend mother,
Into whose house (which was an Academ,)
In which all principles of lust were practis'd:
No soldier might presume to set his foot;
At whose most blessed intercession
All offices in the state, were charitably
Confer'd on Panders, o'erworn chamber wrestlers,
And such physitians as knew how to kill
With safety under the pretence of saving,
And such like children of a monstrous peace,
That she I say should at the length provide
That men of war, and honest younger brothers,
That would not owe their feeding to their cod-peece,
Should be esteem'd of more than mothers, or drones,
Or idle vagabonds.
Theod. I am glad to hear it,
Prethee what course takes she to doe this?
Vitry. One that cannot fail, she and her virtuous train,
With her jewels, and all that was worthy the carrying,
The last night left the court, and, as 'tis more
Than said, for 'tis confirm'd by such as met her,
She's fled unto your brother.
Theod. How?