_Chara._ Thus low my duty Answeres your Lordships counsaile. I will vse In the few words (with which I am to trouble Your Lordships eares) the temper that you wish mee. 150 Not that I feare to speake my thoughts as lowd, And with a liberty beyond _Romont_: But that I know, for me that am made vp Of all that’s wretched, so to haste my end, Would seeme to most, rather a willingnesse 155 To quit the burthen of a hopelesse life, Then scorne of death, or duty to the dead. I therefore bring the tribute of my prayse To your seueritie, and commend the Iustice, That will not for the many seruices 160 That any man hath done the Common wealth Winke at his least of ills: what though my father Writ man before he was so, and confirmd it, By numbring that day, no part of his life, In which he did not seruice to his Country; 165 Was he to be free therefore from the Lawes, And ceremonious forme in your decrees? Or else because he did as much as man In those three memorable ouerthrowes At _Granson_, _Morat_, _Nancy_, where his Master, 170 The warlike _Charloyes_ (with whose misfortunes I beare his name) lost treasure, men and life, To be excus’d, from payment of those summes Which (his owne patri mony spent) his zeale, To serue his Countrey, forc’d him to take vp? 175 _Nou. Se._ The president were ill. _Chara._ And yet, my Lord, this much I know youll grant; After those great defeatures, Which in their dreadfull ruines buried quick, _Enter officers._ Courage and hope, in all men but himselfe, He forst the proud foe, in his height of conquest, 180 To yield vnto an honourable peace. And in it saued an hundred thousand liues, To end his owne, that was sure proofe against The scalding Summers heate, and Winters frost, Illayres, the Cannon, and the enemies sword, 185 In a most loathsome prison. _Du Croy._ Twas his fault To be so prodigall. _Nou. Se._ He had frô the state Sufficent entertainment for the Army. _Char._ Sufficient? My Lord, you sit at home, And though your fees are boundlesse at the barre: 190 Are thriftie in the charges of the warre, But your wills be obeyd. To these I turne, To these soft-hearted men, that wisely know They are onely good men, that pay what they owe. _2 Cred._ And so they are. _1 Cred._ ’Tis the City Doctrine, 195 We stand bound to maintaine it.