And they must soon by law be taken from me.
Hob. Curse on these taxes—one succeeds another—
Our ministers—panders of a king’s will—
Drain all our wealth away—waste it in revels—
And lure or force away our boys, who should be
The props of our old age!—to fill their armies,
And feed the crows of France! Year follows year,
And still we madly prosecute the war;—
Draining our wealth—distressing our poor peasants—
Slaughtering our youths—and all to crown our Chiefs