Exit BALTHAZAR.
LOR. [aside] Why, so! this fits our former policy;
And thus experience bids the wise and deal.
I lay the plot, he prosecutes the point;
I set the trap, he breaks the worthless twigs,
And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim'd.
Thus hopeful men, that means to hold their own,
Must look, like fowlers, to their dearest friends.
He runs to kill whom I have holp to catch,
And no man knows it was my reaching fetch.
'Tis hard to trust unto a multitude,—
Or any one, in mine opinion,
When men themselves their secrets will reveal.
Enter a MESSENGER with a letter.
LOR. Boy.
PAGE. My lord.
LOR. What's he?
MES. I have a letter to your lordship.
LOR. From whence?
MES. From Pedringano that's imprison'd.
LOR. So he is in prison then?