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Art thou mad, Gramadoch? Is't our affair?
Pray, what are we to Noll? Let us remain
In our own sphere. He hires us and 'faith
He might most fitly pay us better wage—
Not to safeguard his life, but gladden it.
Let them abduct his daughter, force his door,
Shave him or strangle him, what is't to us?
Gramadoch.⁠He's right.
Elespuru. He's right. Beyond a doubt.
Trick. He's right. Beyond a doubt. Each to his trade.
He reigns, we laugh.—Let him be cut in quarters,
Or burned or flayed, he's nought to say to us,
So long as we lack not the merry quip.
Elespuru.⁠How our avenging laughter will chastise
His haughty scorn, and how the fools will laugh
At him who would be king but missed his aim!
Gramadoch.⁠And that false chaplain doth resemble us.
Lovers and fools aye well assorted are.
His name of Obededom seems to be
Contrived to mate with Trick, Elespuru,
Giraff and Gramadoch.
Trick. Giraff and Gramadoch. But look you, friends,
If he conspires, we must defend ourselves.
If Stuart should return, he'd hang us all.
Elespuru.⁠What! hang poor, harmless fools for a mere jest?
Trick.⁠Were't but to see the grimaces they'd make
Upon the gibbet. Vainly should we cry
For mercy: everyone delights to see
A jumping-jack a-dangling on a string.
Giraff.⁠Hang us, who've done no wrong?—Be not alarmed.
Let Charles return—he needs must have his fools,
And we're at hand.—Can he, in all the world,