Sam.Have they not Sword-players, and ev'ry sort
Of Gymnic Artists, Wrestlers, Riders, Runners,
Juglers and Dancers, Antics, Mummers, Mimics[errata 1],
But they must pick me out with shackles tir'd,
And over-labour'd at thir publick Mill,
To make them sport with blind activity?
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels1340
On my refusal to distress me more,
Or make a game of my calamities?
Return the way thou cam'st, I will not come.
Off.Regard thy self, this will offend them highly.
Sam.My self? my conscience and internal peace.
Can they think me so broken, so debas'd
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever
Will condescend to such absurd commands?
Although thir drudge, to be thir fool or jester,
And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief1350
To shew them feats and play before thir god,
The worst of all indignities, yet on me
Errata
