[HYP. _Utilitas facit esse Deos_.]

In the clergy, I know, no friends we shall want,
Which for hope of gain the truth will recant,
And give themselves wholly to set out Hypocrisy,
Being egg'd on with Avarice, and defended by Tyranny.

AVARICE.
Well may the clergy on our side hold,
For they by us no small gain did reap;
But all the temporalty, I dare be bold
To venture in wager of gold a good heap,
At our preferments will mourn, wail, and weep.

[HYP. This is sharp arguments.]

TYRANNY.
Though indeed no just cause of joy they can find,
Yet for fear of my sword they will alter their mind,
But I marvel much where Hypocrisy is:
Methink it is long since from us he did go.

AVARICE.
I doubt that of his purpose he miss,
And therefore hath hanged himself for woe. [HYP. Pray for yourself.]
How say'st thou, Tyranny, dost not think so?
In faith, if I thought that he might be spared,

[HYP. Your kind heart shall cost me a couple of rushes.]