Fleet. Verily, my Lords, Brethren should not fall out, it is a Scandal to the good Cause, and maketh the wicked rejoice. War. Wons, and theys garr the loosey Proverb on’t te, _when loons gang together by th’ luggs, gued men get their ene._ All. He, he, he. Due. He calls you Knaves by Craft, my Lords. War. Bread a gued, take’t among ye, Gentlemen, I’s ment weel. Fleet. I profess, my Lord _Wariston_, you make my Hair stand an end to hear how you swear. War. Wons, my Loord, I’s swear as little as your Lordship, only I’s swear out, and ye swallow aud. Due. There’s a Bone for you to pick, my Lord. All. He, he, he. Lam. We give my Lord _Wariston_ leave to jest. Des. But what’s this to the Government all this while? A dad I shall sit so late, I shall have no time to visit my Horses, therefore proceed to the Point. Hew. Ay, to the Point, my Lords; the Gentleman that spoke last spoke well. Cob. Well said, Brother, I see you will in time speak properly. 377 Duc. But to the Government, my Lords! [Beats the Table. Lam. Put ’em off of this Discourse, my Lord. [Aside to _War._ Des. My Lord _Wariston_, move it, you are Speaker. War. The Diel a me, Sirs, and noo ya talk of a Speaker, I’s tell ye a blithe Tale. Fleet. Ingeniously, my Lord, you are to blame to swear so. Lam. Your Story, my Lord. War. By my Sol, mon, and there war a poor Woman the other Day, begg’d o’th’ Carle the Speaker, but he’d give her nought unless she’d let a Feart; wons at last a Feart she lat. Ay marry, quoth the Woman, noo my Rump has a Speaker te. All. He, he, he. Due. But to our Bus’ness— Des. Bus’ness; ay, there’s the thing, I’ve a World on’t. I shou’d go and bespeak a Pair of Mittins and Shears for my Hedger and Shearer, a pair of Cards for my Thrasher, a Scythe for my Mower, and a Screen-Fan for my Lady-Wife, and many other things; my Head’s full of Bus’ness. I cannot stay— Whit. Fy, my Lord, will you neglect the bus’ness of the Day? We meet to oblige the Nation, and gratify our Friends. Des. Nay, I’ll do any thing, so I may rise time enough to see my Horses at Night. Lav. Damn ’em, what stuff’s here for a Council-Table? Free. Where are our _English_ Spirits, that can be govern’d by such Dogs as these?— Lam. Clerk, read the Heads of what past at our last sitting. War. In the first place, I must mind your Lordships tol consider those that have been gued Members in the Commonwealth. Fleet. We shall not be backward to gratify any that have serv’d the Commonwealth. 378 Whit. There’s Money enough; we have taxt the Nation high. Due. Yes, if we knew where to find it: however, read. Clerk reads.] To _Walter Walton_, Draper, six thousand nine hundred twenty nine Pounds six Shillings and five Pence, for Blacks for his Highness’s Funeral. Lam. For the Devil’s; put it down for _Oliver Cromwel’s_ Funeral: We’ll have no Record rise up in Judgment for such a Villain. Lav. How live Asses kick the dead Lion! [Aside.