Bar.  This to me?

Mod.  To you, Sir: 
For is’t not boyish folly (youthfull heat
I cannot call it) to spume downe what all
His life hath labourd for?  Shall Barnavelt
That now should studie how to die, propound
New waies to get a name? or keep a being
A month or two to ruyn whatsoever
The good succes of forty yeeres employment
In the most serious affaires of State
Have raisd up to his memory?  And for what? 
Glory, the popular applause,—­fine purchase
For a gray beard to deale in!

Gro.  You offend him.

Mod.  ’Tis better then to flatter him as you doe. 
Be but yourself againe and then consider
What alteration in the State can be
By which you shall not loose.  Should you bring in
(As heaven avert the purpose and the thought
Of such a mischief) the old Tirrany
That Spaine hath practisd, do you thinck you should be
Or greater then you are or more secure
From danger?  Would you change the goverment,
Make it a Monarchie?  Suppose this don
And any man you favourd most set up,
Shall your authoritie by him encrease? 
Be not so foolishly seducd; for what
Can hope propose to you in any change
Which ev’n now you posses not?

Bar.  Doe not measure My ends by yours.

Mod.  I know not what you ayme at. 
For thirtie yeeres (onely the name of king
You have not had, and yet your absolute powre
Hath ben as ample) who hath ben employd
In office, goverment, or embassie,
Who raisd to wealth or honour that was not
Brought in by your allowaunce?  Who hath held
His place without your lycence?  Your estate is
Beyond a privat mans:  your Brothers, Sonnes,
Frendes, Famylies, made rich in trust and honours: 
Nay, this grave Maurice, this now Prince of Orange,
Whose popularitie you weakely envy,
Was still by you commaunded:  for when did he
Enter the feild but ’twas by your allowaunce? 
What service undertake which you approv’d not? 
What victory was won in which you shard not? 
What action of his renownd in which
Your counsaile was forgotten?  Yf all this then
Suffice not your ambition but you must
Extend it further, I am sorry that
You give me cause to feare that when you move next
You move to your destruction.

Bar.  Yf I fall
I shall not be alone, for in my ruyns
My Enemies shall find their Sepulchers.
Modes-bargen, though in place you are my equall,
The fire of honour, which is dead in you,
Burnes hotly in me, and I will preserve
Each glory I have got, with as much care
As I acheivd it.  Read but ore the Stories
Of men most fam’d for courage or for counsaile. 
And you shall find that the desire of glory
(That last infirmity of noble minds)
Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of: 
Be they my presidents.