_Otto._ It needs not, and I would scorn to receive, Though offer'd, what I want not: therefore know From me, though not deliver'd in great words, Eyes red with rage, poor pride, and threatned action; Our Father at his death, then, when no accent, Wer't thou a Son, could fall from him in vain, Made us Co-heirs, our part of Land and Honours Of equal weight; and to see this confirm'd, The Oaths of these are yet upon record, Who though they should forsake me, and call down The plagues of perjury on their sinful heads, I would not leave my self. _Tre._ Nor will we see the Will of the dead Duke infring'd. _Lat._ Nor I the elder rob'd of what's his right. _Grand._ Nor you? Let me take place, I say, I will not see't; My sword is sharpest. _Aub._ Peace you tinder-boxes, That only carry matter to make a flame, Which will consume you. _Rol._ You are troublesome, [_To_ Baldwin. This is no time for arguments, my Title Needs not your School-defences, but my sword, With which the Gordian of your Sophistry Being cut, shall shew th' Imposture. For your laws [_To_ It is in me to change them when I please, [Gisbert. I being above them; _Gisbert_, would you have me protect them; Let them now stretch their extreamest rigour, And seize upon that Traytor; and your tongue Make him appear first dangerous, then odious; And after, under the pretence of safety For the sick State, the Lands and Peoples quiet, Cut off his head: and I'le give up my sword, And fight with them at a more certain weapon To kill, and with Authority. _Gis._ Sir, I grant the Laws are useful weapons, but found out T'assure the Innocent, not to oppress. _Rol._ Then you conclude him Innocent? _Gis._ The power your Father gave him, must not prove a Crime. _Aub._ Nor should you so receive it. _Bald._ To which purpose, All that dare challenge any part in goodness, Will become suppliants to you. _Rol._ They have none That dare move me in this: hence, I defie you, Be of his party, bring it to your Laws, And thou thy double heart, thou popular fool, Your moral rules of justice and her ballance; I stand on mine own guard. _Otto._ Which thy unjustice Will make thy enemies; by the memory Of him, whose better part now suffers for thee, Whose reverend ashes with an impious hand Thou throw'st out to contempt, in thy repining At this so just decree; thou art unworthy Of what his last Will, not thy merits, gave thee, That art so swoln within, with all those mischiefs That e're made up a Tyrant, that thy breast, The prison of thy purposes, cannot hold them, But that they break forth, and in thy own words Discover, what a monster they must serve That shall acknowledge thee.