the Dutchesse of Malfy.
He hath left a sort of flattring rogues, behind him,
Their doombe must follow: Princes pay flatterers,
In their owne money: Flatterers dissemble their vices,
And they dissemble their lies, that's Justice:
Alas, poore gentlemen,
Duch.
Poore? he hath amply fill'd his cofers.
Bos.
Sure he was too honest: Pluto the god of riches,
When he's sent (by Jupiter) to any man
He goes limping, to signifie that wealth
That comes on god's name, comes slowly, but when he's sent
One the divells arrand, he rides poast, and comes in by scuttles:
Let me shew you, what a most unvalu'd jewell,
You have (in a wanton humour) throwne away,
To blesse the man shall find him: He was an excellent
Courtier, and most faithfull, a souldier, that thought it
As beastly to know his owne value too little,
As devillish to acknowledge it too much,
Both his vertue, and forme, deserv'd a farre better fortune:
His discourse rather delighted to judge it selfe, then shew it selfe.
His breast was fill'd with all perfection,
And yet it seem'd a private whispring roome.
It made so little noyse of't.
Duch.
But he was basely descended.
Bos.
Will you make your selfe a mercinary herald,
Rather to examine mens pedegrees, then vertues?
You shall want him,
For know an honest states-man to a Prince,
Is like a Cedar, planted by a Spring,
The Spring bathes the trees roote, the gratefull tree,
Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so,
I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on two Politisians
Rotten bladders, tide together with an Intelligencers hart-string
Then depend on so changeable a Princes favour.
Fare-thee-well (Antonio) since the mallice of the world
Would needes downe with thee, it cannot be sayd yet
That any ill happened unto thee, considering thy fall,
Was accompanied with vertue.
Duch.
