Of your so wounded faith I made these wounds,
Forc't to it by an insolence of force45
To stirre a stone; nor is a rocke, oppos'd
To all the billowes of the churlish sea,
More beate and eaten with them then was I
With your ambitious, mad idolatrie;
And this bloud I shed is to save the bloud50
Of many thousands.
Gui. That's your white pretext;
But you will finde one drop of bloud shed lawlesse