Is ready to rebel; he spoils, he pills; We need no foes to forage that we have: The law, say they, in peace consumèd us, And now in war we will consume the law. Look to this mischief, lawyers: conscience knows You live amiss; amend it, lest you end! _Law._ Good Lord, that these divines should see so far In others' faults, without amending theirs! Sir, sir, the general defaults in state (If you would read before you did correct) Are, by a hidden working from above, By their successive changes still remov'd. Were not the law by contraries maintain'd, How could the truth from falsehood be discern'd? Did we not taste the bitterness of war, How could we know the sweet effects of peace? Did we not feel the nipping winter-frosts, How should we know the sweetness of the spring? Should all things still remain in one estate, Should not in greatest arts some scars be found? Were all upright, nor chang'd, what world were this? A chaos, made of quiet, yet no world, Because the parts thereof did still accord: This matter craves a variance, not a speech. But, Sir Divine, to you: look on your maims, Divisions, sects, your simonies, and bribes, Your cloaking with the great for fear to fall,-- You shall perceive you are the cause of all. Did each man know there was a storm at hand, Who would not clothe him well, to shun the wet? Did prince and peer, the lawyer and the least, Know what were sin, without a partial gloss, We'd need no long discovery then of crimes, For each would mend, advis'd by holy men. Thus [I] but slightly shadow out your sins; But, if they were depainted out of life, Alas, we both had wounds enough to heal! _Merch._ None of you both, I see, but are in fault; Thus simple men, as I, do swallow flies. This grave divine can tell us what to do; But we may say, "Physician, mend thyself." This lawyer hath a pregnant wit to talk; But all are words, I see no deeds of worth. _Law._ Good merchant, lay your fingers on your mouth; Be not a blab, for fear you bite yourself. What should I term your state, but even the way To every ruin in this commonweal? You bring us in the means of all excess, You rate it and retail it as you please; You swear, forswear, and all to compass wealth; Your money is your god, your hoard your heaven; You are the groundwork of contention. First, heedless youth by you is over-reach'd; We are corrupted by your many crowns: The gentlemen, whose titles you have bought, Lose all their fathers' toil within a day, Whilst Hob your son, and Sib your nutbrown child, Are gentlefolks, and gentles are beguil'd. This makes so many noble minds to stray, And take sinister courses in the state. _Enter a_ Scout.