2 _Lord_. Will ye bethinck ye, Sir, of what ye come for. _Bar_.

I come to dye: bethinck you of your Justice And with what Sword ye strike, the edge of mallice. Bethinck ye of the travells I had for ye, The throaes and grones to bring faire peace amongst ye; Bethinck ye of the dangers I have plundgd through And almost gripes of death, to make you glorious. Thinck when the Cuntry, like a Wildernes, Brought nothing forth but desolation, Fire, Sword and Famine; when the earth sweatt under ye Cold dewes of blood, and _Spanish_ flames hoong ore ye, And every man stood markt the child of murder And women wanted wombes to feed theis cruelties;- Thinck then who stept in to you, gently tooke ye And bound your bleeding wounds up; from your faces Wipd of the sweatts of sorrow, fed and nurssd ye; Who brought the plowgh againe to crowne your plenty; Your goodly meadowes who protected (Cuntrymen) From the armd Soldiers furious marches; who Unbard the Havens that the floating Merchant Might clap his lynnen wings up to the windes And back the raging waves to bring you proffit.