There is much likelihood, Such bandits did in England erst abound, When polity was young.

I have read of the pranks Of that mad archer, and of the tax he levied On travellers, whatever their degree, Baron, or knight, whoever pass'd these woods, Layman, or priest, not sparing the bishop's mitre For spiritual regards; nay, once 'tis said, He robb'd the king himself.
_Simon_.

A perilous man (_smiling_).
_Sir W_.

How quietly we live here, Unread in the world's business, And take no note of all its slippery changes.
'Twere best we make a world among ourselves, A little world, Without the ills and falsehoods of the greater; We two being all the inhabitants of ours, And kings and subjects both in one.
_Simon_.

Only the dangerous errors, fond conceits, Which make the business of that greater world, Must have no place in ours: As, namely, riches, honors, birth, place, courtesy, Good fame and bad, rumors and popular noises, Books, creeds, opinions, prejudices national, Humors particular, Soul-killing lies, and truths that work small good, Feuds, factions, enmities, relationships, Loves, hatreds, sympathies, antipathies, And all the intricate stuff quarrels are made of.
MARGARET _enters in boy's apparel_.
_Sir W_.