Would vse his heauen for thunder;
Nothing but thunder: Mercifull heauen,
Thou rather with thy sharpe and sulpherous bolt
Splits the vn-wedgable and gnarled Oke,
Then the soft Mertill: But man, proud man,
Drest in a little briefe authoritie,
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
(His glassie Essence) like an angry Ape
Plaies such phantastique tricks before high heauen,
As makes the Angels weepe: who with our spleenes,
Would all themselues laugh mortall

Luc. Oh, to him, to him wench: he will relent,
Hee's comming: I perceiue't

Pro. Pray heauen she win him

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with our selfe,
Great men may iest with Saints: tis wit in them,
But in the lesse fowle prophanation

Luc. Thou'rt i'th right (Girle) more o'that

Isab. That in the Captaine's but a chollericke word,
Which in the Souldier is flat blasphemie

Luc. Art auis'd o'that? more on't

Ang. Why doe you put these sayings vpon me?
Isab. Because Authoritie, though it erre like others,