_Gui._ I'm what you please to call me; any thing,
Lieutenant-general, chief, or constable,
Good decent names, that only mean--your slave.

_Buss._ You chased the Germans hence, exiled Navarre,
And rescued France from heretics and strangers.

_Aum._ What he, and all of us have done, is known.
What's our reward? Our offices are lost,
Turned out, like laboured oxen after harvest,
To the bare commons of the withered field.

_Buss._ Our charters will go next; because we sheriffs
Permit no justice to be done on those
The court calls rebels, but we call them saints.

_Gui._ Yes; we are all involved, as heads, or parties;
Dipt in the noisy crime of state, called treason;
And traitors we must be, to king, or country.

_Buss._ Why then my choice is made.

_Pol._ And mine.

_Omn._ And all.

_Card._ Heaven is itself head of the Holy League;
And all the saints are cov'nanters and Guisards.