To shew him what a Begger his heart is,
Being of no power to make his wishes good.
His promises flye so beyond his state,
That what he speaks is all in debt, he ows for eu'ry word:
He is so kinde, that he now payes interest for't;
His Land's put to their Bookes. Well, would I were
Gently put out of Office, before I were forc'd out:
Happier is he that has no friend to feede,
Then such that do e'ne Enemies exceede.
I bleed inwardly for my Lord.

Exit

Tim. You do your selues much wrong,
You bate too much of your owne merits.
Heere my Lord, a trifle of our Loue

2.Lord. With more then common thankes
I will receyue it

3.Lord. O he's the very soule of Bounty

Tim. And now I remember my Lord, you gaue good
words the other day of a Bay Courser I rod on. Tis yours
because you lik'd it

1.L. Oh, I beseech you pardon mee, my Lord, in that

Tim. You may take my word my Lord: I know no
man can iustly praise, but what he does affect. I weighe