PICOTE

Spread here this history of Catiline, That Earth may seem to bring forth Roman Spirits; Even to his Genial feet; and her Dam ke breast Be made the clear Glass of his shining Graces, Weel make his feet so tender, they shall gall In all paths but to Empire; and therein I'll make the sweet Steps of his State begin. Exit. That S way, your Highness. I my Lord. Exeunt. Away my Lord, the Lords inquire for you. Exit Bir. No doubt (my Lord) no stranger knows this way One y the Archduke, and your friend Count Mansfield, Perhaps may make their general escapes to you, To utter some partly of their private loves, E e your departure. My Lord, to wear your loyal habit still, When it is out of fashion; and hath done Service enough; were rustic misery: The habit of a servile loyalty, Is reck and now amongst privations, With blindness, dumbness, deafness, silence, death, All which are neither nature's by themselves Nor substances, but mere decays of form, And absolute decessions of nature, And so, it's nothing, what shall you then lose? Your highness hath a habit in perfection, And in desert of highest dignities, Which carve your self, and be your own rewarder No true pour does admit privation, Adverse to him; or suffers any fellow Joined in his subject; you, superiors; It is the nature of things absolute. One to destroy another; be your Highness, Like those steep hills that will admit no clouds, No dew , nor lest fumes bound about their brows; Because their tops pierce into purest air, Expert of humour; or Like air it self That quickly changes; and receives the sun Soon as he riseth; every where dispersing His royal splendour; guirds it in his beams, And makes it self the body of the light; Hight, shining, swift, light, and aspiring things, Are of immortal, and celestial nature; Cold, dark, dull, heavy of infernal Fortune's, And never aim at any happiness: Your excellency knows; that simple loyalty, Faith, love, sincerity, are but words, no things; Merely devised for form; and as the Legate, Sent from his Holiness, to frame a peace Betwixt Spain and Savoy ; laboured eruently, (For common ends, not for the Dukes particular) To have him sign it; he again endeavours (Not for the Legates pains, but his own pleasure) To gratify him; and being at last encountered; Where the flood Tesyn enters into Po, They made a kind contention, which of them Should enter th'others boat; one thrust the other: One leg was over, and another in: And with a fiery courtesy, at last Savoy leaps out, into the Legates arms, And here ends all his love, and th'others labour; So shall these terms, and impositions Expressed before, hold nothing in themselves Really good; but flourishes of form: And further then they make to private ends None wise, or free, their proper use intends.