_Wol_. My Guard there.
_Hub_. Sir, you bad me sit, and promis'd you would hear,
Which I now say you shall; not a sound more,
For I that am contemner of mine own,
Am Master of your life; then here's a Sword
Between you, and all aids, Sir, though you blind
The credulous beast, the multitude, you pass not
These gross untruths on me.
_Wol_. How? gross untruths?
_Hub_. I, and it is favourable language,
They had been in a mean man lyes, and foul ones.
_Wol_. You take strange Licence.
_Hub_. Yes, were not those rumours
Of being called unto your answer, spread
By your own followers? and weak _Gerrard_ wrought
(But by your cunning practice) to believe
That you were dangerous; yet not to be
Punish'd by any formal course of Law,
But first to be made sure, and have your crimes
Laid open after, which your quaint train taking
You fled unto the Camp, and [there] crav'd humbly
Protection for your innocent life, and that,
Since you had scap'd the fury of the War,
You might not fall by treason: and for proof,
You did not for your own ends make this danger;
Some that had been before by you suborn'd,
Came forth and took their Oaths they had been hir'd
By _Gerrard_ to your Murther.
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