Corn. To this Chaire binde him,
Villaine, thou shalt finde
Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done
To plucke me by the Beard
Reg. So white, and such a Traitor?
Glou. Naughty Ladie,
These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin
Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host,
With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
Corn. Come Sir.
What Letters had you late from France?
Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth
Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors,
late footed in the Kingdome?
Reg. To whose hands
You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake
Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe
Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart,
And not from one oppos'd