_Puny._ Oh bless me! Fire and Sword! I shall not live three Minutes! if my trembling Limbs permit me, I’ll kneel, I’ll pray Heaven preserve my poor Soul; these Villains will come in a moment, and take every Penny of my Money; I desire I may be forgiven all my Sins. These Rogues are coming, they’ll rob me, take my Plate, and break my Windows: O sweet Heaven forgive me all my ill-dreamt visionary Lewdness! If they come, I shall never purchase _Kemp_’s Estate, but buy a Coat of Arms, and a Patent for my Son. _Enter_ Urlandenny _and_ Temo. _Urlan._ So old _Gaddecar_, you’re at Prayers, cry aloud, thy Deity is deaf, with your squinting Soul that kens both Earth and Heaven; fling your Bags into the Elements, then will you look straight upright: Be gone, what hast thou to do in this World? What dost thou mean? _Puny._ I mean to be the Root of a Family. _Urlan._ If the Root be Avarice, what will the Body, Branches, Leaves and Fruit be? Twenty Generations must pass away, before thy Seed can be refined so far, as to produce a Gentleman. _Puny._ Is not Gold a Gentleman, a Person of Quality? What makes a Gentleman? _Urlan._ Education, Honour, and Generosity; add to a fine Gentleman Love, Resolution, Taste; a Person of Quality has all these Perfections, and is discerning, with a sublime Thirst in the Soul; a longing to reward Merit; fervent to serve the meanest, and punctual to his Word; his Blood is double and treble refin’d; he’s full of Heaven; a Sunfire; a Light that quenches all the Flame of Nature; he lets himself down to converse with great Men and Angels, that are in Intellect but three Inches high. _Puny._ Cannot a new-born Gentleman have all these Perfections? _Urlan._ No, your Upstarts are huge, and tall, converse with a Prince of the Air, and their Nostrils are full of the Devil. [_Ex._ Pun. _and_ Tem. _Drums beat. Enter_ Darony. _Dar._ Now, my dear Friend, all is secured, the King is in Chains. _Urlan._ What Drums are these? _Dar._ _Lomperhomock_, the _Dutch_ General. _Enter_ Lomperhomock. My Lord _Lomperhomock_, you’re welcome to Court. _Lom._ I wish you much Happiness of your Crown, when it is secured. _Dar._ I hope there is no Danger. _Lom._ ’Tis my earnest Desire that you will instantly execute the King; for while he’s living, all his Friends will rouse up like Lions, but when they hear he’s dead, ’twill greatly oppress their Souls. _Dar._ He shall instantly be executed. _Lom._ Then I’ll march in Pleasure, and meet his Army. [_Ex._ Urland. Dar. _and_ Lom. _The Scene changes to the King in Prison._ _King._ I would ask Relief of Heaven, though ’tis in vain, when all the eternal Infernals are turn’d out loose upon me, to pour out their flaming Cataracts of mighty, limited Revenge. _Enter_ Lomperhomock.