ray_. Nor otherwise consider this garb you trust to than as a poor
disguise.

_Lovel_. Nor use much ceremony with a traitor.

_Gray_. Therefore, without much induction of superfluous words, I
attach you, Sir Walter Woodvil, of High Treason, in the King's name.

_Lovel_. And of taking part in the great Rebellion against our late
lawful Sovereign, Charles the First.

_Simon_. John has betrayed us, father.

_Lovel_. Come, sir, you had best surrender fairly. We know you, sir.

_Simon_. Hang ye, villains, ye are two better known than trusted. I
have seen those faces before. Are ye not two beggarly retainers,
trencher-parasites, to John? I think ye rank above his footmen. A
sort of bed and board worms--locusts that infest our house; a leprosy
that long has hung upon its walls and princely apartments, reaching
to fill all the corners of my brother's once noble heart.

_Gray_. We are his friends.

_Simon_. Fie, sir, do not weep. How these rogues will triumph! Shall
I whip off their heads, father?

[_Draws_.

_Lovel_. Come, sir, though this show handsome in you, being his son,
yet the law must have its course.

_Simon_. And if I tell ye the law shall not have its course, cannot
ye be content? Courage, father; shall such things as these apprehend
a man? Which of ye will venture upon me?--Will you, Mr. Constable
self-elect? or you, sir, with a pimple on your nose, got at Oxford by
hard drinking, your only badge of loyalty?

_Gray_. 'Tis a brave youth--I cannot strike at him.

_Simon_. Father, why do you cover your face with your hands? Why do
you fetch your breath so hard? See, villains, his heart is burst! O
villains, he cannot speak. One of you run for some water; quickly, ye
knaves; will ye have your throats cut?

[_They both slink off_.

How is it with you, Sir Walter? Look up, sir, the villains are gone.
He hears me not, and this deep disgrace of treachery in his son hath
touched him even to the death. O most distuned and distempered world,
where sons talk their aged fathers into their graves! Garrulous and
diseased world, and still empty, rotten and hollow _talking_ world,
where good men decay, states turn round in an endless mutability, and
still for the worse; nothing is at a stay, nothing abides but vanity,
chaotic vanity.--Brother, adieu!

There lies the parent stock which gave us life,
Whic