Bar. Dead?
Son. Killd himself; his owne hand
Most bravely was his Justice; nor left behind him
One peece of paper to dishonour ye.
They are all to seeke now for their Accusations.
Bar. And is he dead? so timely, too? so truly? Speak't againe, Will?
Son. Hee's dead, Sir, if I live here.
Bar. And his owne hand?
Son. His hand and will performd it.
Bar. Give me some wyne. I find now, notwithstanding
[Enter Servant with wine.
The opposition of those mindes that hate me,
A wise-man spyns his owne fate and secures it.
Nor can I, that have powre to perswade men dye,
Want living frends to iustifie my Creadit.
Goe in and get me meat now; invyte my frends,
I am determind to be high and merry.
Thou hast lost thy Charge; wee'll have another, Will;
It shall goe hard els. The Prince of Orange now
Will find what frends I have, and of what reckning;
And when he seekes this life, he must make passage
Through thousands more and those he little dreames of.
Son. I wonder how he got that speritt, Sir, to dye soe?
Bar. He was a weak man, indeed, but he has redeemd it: There be some other I could wish of his mind. Do'st thinck they dare doe any thing now.
Son. 'Troth, I thinck not, Sir.