War. Bread a gued, Gentlemen, I’s serv’d the Commonwealth long and faithfully; I’s turn’d and turn’d to aud Interest and aud Religions that turn’d up Trump, and wons a me, but I’s get naught but Bagery by my Sol; I’s noo put in for a Pansion as well as rest o ya Loones. Cob. What we can serve you in, my Lord, you may command. Duc. And I too, my Lord, when the Government is new moulded. War. Wons, Sirs, and I’s sa moold it, ’twas ne’er sa moolded sen the Dam boon’d the Head on’t. Duc. I know there are some ambitious Persons that are for a single Person; but we’ll have hot Work e’er we yield to that. War. The faud Diel take ’em then for _Archibald_; ’tis warse than Monarchy. Duc. A thousand times: have we with such Industry 375 been pulling down Kings of the Royal Family, to set up Tyrants of our own, of mean and obscure Birth? No, if we’re for a single Person, I’m for a lawful one. War. Wons and ya have spoken aud, my Lord, so am I. Due. But _Lambert_ has a busy, haughty Spirit, and thinks to carry it; but we’ll have no single Person. War. Nor I, ods Bread; the faud Diel brest the Wem of _Lambert_, or any single Person in _England_. I’s for yare Interest, my gued Lords. [Bowing. Lam. My Lord _Wariston_, will you please to assume the Chair? Enter _Loveless_, _Freeman_, and others with Petitions. War. Ah, my gued Loord, I’s yare most obedient humble Servant. [Bowing to _Lam._ all set. All. Hum, hum. Fleet. My Lords and Gentlemen, we are here met together in the Name of the Lard— Duc. Yea, and I hope we shall hang together as one Man—A Pox upon your Preaching. [Aside. Fleet. —And hope this Day’s great Work will be for his Praise and Glory. Duc. ’Bating long Graces, my Lord, we are met together for the Bus’ness of the Nation, to settle it, and to establish a Government. Fleet. Yea, verily: and I hope you will all unanimously agree, it shall be your unworthy Servant. Lam. What else, my Lord. Fleet. And as thou, Lard, hast put the Sword into my Hand— Due. So put it into your Heart—my Lord, to do Justice. Fleet. Amen. Due. I’d rather see it there than in your Hand— [Aside. Fleet. For we are, as it were, a Body without a Head; or, to speak more learnedly, an Animal inanimate. Hew. My Lord, let us use, as little as we can, the 376 Language of the Beast, hard Words; none of your Eloquence, it savoureth of Monarchy. Lam. My Lord, you must give Men of Quality leave to speak in a Language more gentile and courtly than the ordinary sort of Mankind. Hew. My Lord, I am sorry to hear there are any of Quality among this honourable Dissembly. [Stands up. Cob. Assembly, my Lord— Hew. Well, you know my meaning; or if there be any such, I’m sorry they should own themselves of Quality. Due. How! own themselves Gentlemen! Death, Sir, d’ye think we were all born Coblers? Hew. Or if you were not, the more the pity, for little _England_, I say. [In a heat.