[1] Burg. Strew, strew: more Garlonds and more Flowres.
Up with the Bowghes! Sacramant, I will have
My noble frends house, Mounseiur Barnavelts,
As well deckt as his Excellencies Court,
For though they have got him in prison he deserves
As well as any.
Cap. Mark you that.
2 Burg. 'Tis said They will cutt of his head.
1 Burg. Much![187] with a Cusshin! They know he has too many frends.
[2] Burg. They dare not. People will talke: I hope ere long to see him As great as ever.
[1] Burg. Greater too, I doubt not, And of more powre; his feet upon the necks Of all his Enemies.
Or. I am glad I heard this; And Barnavelt shall feele I will make use oft. Come; follow me. [Exeunt.
2 Burg. So, now the merry Song We made for his good Lady. Lustique,[188] hoa!
[Song.
Enter Wife above.