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Willis. My poor old friend! But do not pity me,
If, step by step, brought almost to the tomb,
My branded arm, inflamed with holy zeal,
Doth help to raise again the lawful throne;
Or if it be God's will that all that's left
Of my old blood, while I proclaim my faith,
Shall flow for my true King!
Ormond. Shall flow for my true King! O loyalty
Sublime!
Rochester. Sublime! Most reverend fidelity!
Willis.⁠Among you I the lowliest am, my lords.
My sole good fortune is that I have been
The most maltreated servant of the King.
Doctor Jenkins.⁠How fruitful are your virtuous qualities
Of honourable deeds to emulate!
Willis [with a deprecatory gesture.
Here are our Roundheads; whom do we await?
Ormond.⁠Lambert is missing still. Cowards are slow.
Rochester [to Rosebery and Clifford, drinking.
How stiff and formal are these saints of ours,
All with their broad-brimmed felts like yew-trees shaped!
Willis [to Lord Ormond.
Who are these sectaries?
Ormond. Who are these sectaries? The two who stand
Together yonder, Ludlow and Plinlimmon,
Members of Parliament; then Carr, who doth
With glance of hate and terror follow us;
"Damned" Barebones, the inspired cordwainer.
Willis.⁠Who is this Barebones?
Davenant [to Sir Richard, in an undertone.]⁠Ah! he is unique.