Liberties, fortunes, to Imperial hands,
Made them the guardians of your sickly years?
And now you're grown up to a booby's greatness,
What, would you wrest the sceptre from his hand?
Now, by the majesty of kings I swear,
You shall as soon be saved for packing juries.

_1 Sher._ Why, sir, mayn't citizens be saved?

_Gril._ Yes, sir,
From drowning, to be hanged, burnt, broke o'the wheel.

_1 Sher._ Colonel, you speak us plain.

_Gril._ A plague confound you,
Why should I not? what is there in such rascals,
Should make me hide my thought, or hold my tongue?
Now, in the devil's name, what make you here,
Daubing the inside of the court, like snails,
Sliming our walls, and pricking out your horns?
To hear, I warrant, what the king's a doing,
And what the cabinet-council; then to the city,
To spread your monstrous lies, and sow sedition?
Wild fire choke you!

_1 Sher._ Well, we'll think of this;
And so we take our leaves.

_Gril._ Nay, stay, my masters;
For I'm a thinking now just whereabouts