_People._ Zoft! whither wilt thou? wilt thou not be roiled? Stand still, skitbrained thief, or thy bones shall be coiled! Yond be they coming now, che war't that will tame ye. A, zee! art thou gone too? come back, and evil a thee! ACTUS QUINTI, SCENA DE[CIMA]. NEMESIS. RESPUBLICA. MISERICORDIA. VERITAS. JUSTICE. PAX. PEOPLE. INSOLENCE. OPPRESSION. ADULATION. AVARICE. _Nem._ Come forth, Respublica, our darling most dear! _Resp._ At your word, most gracious lady! I am here. _Nem._ Are these your trusty men that had you in government? _People._ The skitb[r]ains nold not be roiled ne'er, since ye went. _Nem._ People! why art thou bashful and standest so far? Be of good cheer now; and, I warrant thee, come near! _People._ I will come no near: cha not be haled up with states, But I scannot be fichant enough amongst my [mates]. _Nem._ Come near, when I bid thee _People._ Marry! but I ninnat; I namnot worthy to perk with you, no, I nam not. _Nem._ Well, Respublica! are these your late governors, Whom ye took for faithful and trusty counsellors? _Resp._ Yea, forsooth, Madame! _Avar._ These three be, but I am none; For I was discharged nigh half-an-hour agone. _Nem._ Come! first stand forth here, thou Adulation! _Adul._ Speak a good word for me, lady Compassion! _People._ Nay! she shall not need, I chill speak for thee myself-- Madame, take good heed! for this is a naughty elf. _Adul._ Nay, Madame! the cause of all this was Avarice; He forged us new names, and did us all entice. _Oppr._ We neither did nor could work, but by his advice. _Adul._ Because I got no more, he chid me once or twice. _Insol._ Madame! only Avarice made us all to fall. _Avar._ Yea? Fall to preaching? Nay! then will I tell all. Madame! ere I had taught these merchants any while, They were cunninger than I, all men to beguile. And Verity saw mine were small purses and bags, Tottering loose about me, like wind-shaken rags. But he that should have bagged that Insolence did win, Must have made a poke to put five or six shires in; He must have made wide sacks for castles, towns, and woods: The canvas to make them of, were worth ten times my goods. Then Oppression here, to feather well his nest, Cared not, of their livelood whom he dispossest. Bishops, deans, provosts, the poor folk from the spital, Lands with church and chapel, all was for him too little. Poor I did not so; I scraped but little crumbs; And, here and there, with odd ends, patched up my sums. Flattery got his thrift by counterfeit honesty; Yet, by these ten bones! I bid him use modesty. Therefore, spare not him; he will ne'er come to good pass; But I may well be mended, by the Mary Mass!