It rests with you--and will rest.

Lewis. I'll crowd my court and dais with men of God,
As doth my peerless namesake, King of France.

Wal. Priests, Sir? The Frenchman keeps two counsellors
Worth any drove of priests.

Lewis. And who are they?

Wal. God and his lady-love, [aside] He'll open at that--

Lewis. I could be that man's squire.

Wal [aside] Again run riot--
Now for another cast, [aloud] If you'd sleep sound, Sir,
You'll let priests pray for you, but school you never.

Lewis. Mass! who more fitted?

Wal. None, if you could trust them;
But they are the people's creatures; poor men give them
Their power at the church, and take it back at the ale-house:
Then what's the friar to the starving peasant?
Just what the abbot is to the greedy noble--
A scarecrow to lear wolves. Go ask the church plate,
Safe in knights' cellars, how these priests are feared.
Bruised reeds when you most need them.--No, my Lord;
Copy them, trust them never.