(Their spirits shrunke up like their covetous fists,
And never opened but Domitian-like,165
And all his base, obsequious minions
When they were catching though it were but flyes),
Besotted with their pezzants love of gaine,
Rusting at home, and on each other preying,
Are for their greatnesse but the greater slaves,170
And none is noble but who scrapes and saves.
Bal. Tis base, tis base; and yet they thinke them high.
Cler. So children mounted on their hobby-horse