Suff.
Who is there, Beaufort, does not know Thee, better!

Buckin.
His Actions and his whole Deportment glare,
Conspicuous, through the slender Veil of Words.

Suff.
Such gross Dissimulation (like a Mist,
Before some Meteor) magnifies his Vices.
  But, Buckingham, his Insolence must pass
Uncheck'd; 'till He has wrought his Spite on Gloucester:
Then, cast him off!

Buckin.
Herein, I dare believe
His Heart Sincere.

Suff.
There is no Room for Doubt:
Since, Gloucester is a Bar to his Ambition.
  Yet, when the Lord Protectour is remov'd;
The Queen (who knows his priestly Pride) resolves
To disappoint him of the Popedome.—
Thus much, for Your Instruction.—Let him work
For Us.—Let him succeed; or, fail:—In This,
His Malice is his only Recompense;
In That, we turn the Blame on Him, alone.

Buckin.
He has dispers'd large Summs, to purchase Voices.

Suff.
Urge him to More.—His Treasures are immense!—
Nor, must We spare, on this Occasion.

Buckin.
See!—
The Lord Protectour.

Suff.
We may learn his Business.

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