_Wife_. I thanck you, frend.
[_Exeunt_.
SCAENA 5.
_Enter_Orange,_Bredero,_Vandort,_William,_Lords._
[Table.
_Vand_. Let him be sent for presently: he shall know,
[_A_Bar_brought_in_.
Were he ten times more popular, his frends
And flatterers Centuple, the Sword of Justice
Shall fall on him as on the meanest man
Since he deserves it.
_Enter_Provost,_Captaines_&Guard_with_Barnavelt_.
_Pro_. Make roome for the Prisoner.
_Bar_. My dutie to your Highnes and theis Princes
And an increase of wisdome to your Lordships,
For which the world admires you, I wish to you.
Alas, what troble do's a weake old man,
(That is, being out of all imployment, useles)
The bag of his deserts, too, cast behind you,
Impose upon this Senat? My poore life
(Which others envy makes your Instruments
To fight against) will hardly be a Conquest
Worthie such great performers.
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