Bor. They think their choice
Is free. Sincere in that, they give my post
A dignity not even your majesty
May mock me out of.
Hud. Fools are noted most
For their sincerity,—a virtue that
Must stand a cipher if uncertified
By wit or wisdom.
Bor. Sir, Assarians
Are not the fools you think them. They are men
Who have the patriot's heart, and on their flag
Where you write "power" their love reads "liberty."
Hud. It does, praise be! And they may keep their flag
To wear around their eyes long as they will.
For then I dance my measure, while they bump
In hither-whither hoodman blind and pay
My fiddler too!
Bor. And what's my part in this?
Hud. The fiddler's, Borduc.
Bor. Sir?
Hud. And your next tune
Is Goldusan. Come, let's rehearse.
Bor. My lord,——
[Exeunt, lower right, as Chartrien and LeVal enter left]