Act 4

Scene 4.1

W

Can these men feare? who are not only ours, But the worlds masters? Then I see, the Gods Upbraid our suffrings, or would humble them; By sending these affrights, while we are here: That we might laugh at their ridiculous feare, Whose names, we trembled at, beyond the Alpes.

Of all that passe, I do not see a face Worthy a man, that dares looke up, and stand One thunder out; but downeward all, like beasts, Running away from euery flash is made.

The falling world could not deserue such basenesse.

Are we emploid here, by our miseries, Like superstitious fooles (or rather slaues) To plaine our griefes, wrongs, and oppressions, To a meere clothed Senate whom our folly Hath made, and still intends to keepe our Tyrannes?

It is our base petitionary breath That blowes them to this greatnesse; which this pricke Would soone let out, if we were bold, and wretched.

When they have taken all we have; our goods, Crop, lands, and houses, they will leaue us this: A weapon, and an arme will still be found, Though naked left, and lower then the ground.