I place but little trust in courtly faith.
John Ball. We must remain embodied; else the king
Will plunge again in royal luxury;
And when the storm of danger is past over,
Forget his promises.
Hob. Aye, like an aguish sinner,
He’ll promise to repent when the fit’s on him;
When well recover’d, laugh at his own terrors.
Piers. Oh! I am griev’d that we must gain so little!
Why are not all these empty ranks abolish’d,