Slew'st thine own Feeder: come not near the altar,
Nor with thy reeking hands pollute the Sacrifice,
Thou art markt for shame eternal. [Exit.
Sep. Look all on me,
And let me be a story left to time
Of blood and Infamy, how base and ugly
Ingratitude appears, with all her profits,
How monstrous my hop'd grace, at Court! good souldiers
Let neither flattery, nor the witching sound
Of high and soft preferment, touch your goodness: