_Thra_. 'Twill move him.

[ _Enter_ Philaster.

_Di_. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour,
We have spent some time in seeking you.

_Phi_. My worthy friends,
You that can keep your memories to know
Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown
On men disgrac'd for vertue: A good day
Attend you all. What service may I do worthy your
acceptation?

_Di_. My good Lord,
We come to urge that vertue which we know
Lives in your breast, forth, rise, and make a head,
The Nobles, and the people are all dull'd
With this usurping King: and not a man
That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing
As vertue, but will second your attempts.

_Phi_. How honourable is this love in you
To me that have deserv'd none? Know my friends
(You that were born to shame your poor _Philaster_,
With too much courtesie) I could afford
To melt my self in thanks; but my designs
Are not yet ripe, suffice it, that ere long
I shall imploy your loves: but yet the time is short of
what I would.