Chapter 48

_Enter_ Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, _and five or six more disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns_.

_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this damn’d Widow: The Devil ow’d him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.

_Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_.

--Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come?

_Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!

_Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let’s dress and about our Business.

_Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design’d for Love and Play!

_Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? ‘tis almost day.

_Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night!

_Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ’d to remember.

_Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou’d be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond ‘em! And had I not been interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I’d had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise. [_Dresses_.

_Dres_. All’s still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.

_Wild_. ‘Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I’ll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider’d, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,’.will be easy to suspect the Thief.

_Fop_. Right; and since ‘tis for the securing our Necks, ‘tis lawful Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. [_Exeunt as into the House_.

_After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres’d, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves_.

_Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!

_Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_.

_Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in’s Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle’s chief Pimp--so--

[_They bind and gag him_. _Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir.

_Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e’er they cou’d alarm their Fellows by crying out.

_Wild_. ‘Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle’s Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.

[_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_.

_Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy’s _Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_.

_Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder! [Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_.

_Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman’s Bed? [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.

_Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.

_Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.

_Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.

_Dres_. That’s well--The sanctify’d Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her Neck. [_Pulls off the Coat_.

_Sen_. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship’s Coat for my Gown. [_A little Book drops out of her Bosom_.

_Dres_. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.

_Sen_. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz’d! I went but to tuck his Worship up.

_Dres_. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply--Here, gag, and bind her. [_Exit_ Dres.

_Sen_. Hold, hold, I am with Child!

_Lab_. Then you’ll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.

_Enter_ Wild. Fop. _and others, leading in Sir_ Timothy _in his Night-gown and Night-Gap_.

Sir _Tim_. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about--Pity my Age.

_Wild_. Damn’d beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity--

Sir _Tim_. Oh, fearful--But, Gentlemen, what is’t you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim’d at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.

_Wild_. How, Sirrah! [_Fiercely, he starts_.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I’ve done for him, d’ye see--

_Fop_. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the Pope?

Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, an’t like ye, I have done you very great Service, very great Service; for I have been, d’ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe ’.m hereafter, shou’d they swear against his Holiness and all the Conclave of Cardinals.

_Wild_. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good Cause.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural Agility in turning--I shall whip about yet, and leave ‘em all in the Lurch.

_Wild_. ‘Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word for that.

Sir _Tim_. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv’d to assassinate me then?

_Wild_. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou’d not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person--Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.

_Fop_. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready--

Sir _Tim_. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [_Smiling on ‘em_.] Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I make now to accommodate you?--But if you please to come again to morrow--

_Fop_. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money. [_Aloud and threatning_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to night; I wou’d not for the world his Lordship shou’d be disturb’d.

_Wild_. Take no care for him, he’s fast bound and all his Retinue.

Sir _Tim_. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac’d! What will the Polanders say, that I shou’d expose their Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?

_Wild_. Bind him, and take away his Keys.

[_They bind him hand and foot, and take his Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord’s bound--Oh, what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who’s there, _Jervice_? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? but ‘tis no matter and I were dumb too; for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?--And then my Heiress, _Jervice_, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she’ll be ravisht: Oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, _Jervice_; nay, perhaps as thou say’st, they’ll carry her away.--Oh, that thought! Gad, I rather the City-Charter were lost. [_Enter some with Bags of Money_. --Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.

_Fop_. What, do you mutter, Dog?

Sir _Tim_. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well--Barbarous Rogues. [_They go out all again_.] Here’s your arbitrary Power, _Jervice_; here’s the Rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye--we’ll spare neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.

_Enter_ Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, _and the rest, with more Bags_.

_Wild_. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.

_Dres_. Nay, then ‘tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe--What hast thou here? [_To_ Fop. _who enters with a Bag full of Papers_.

_Fop_. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn’d Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion’d Oath of Abjuration, call’d the Association.--Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?

Sir _Tim_. Say, Sir? why, I’ll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou’d communicate such Secrets to such as you? I’ll say you forg’d ‘em, and put ‘em in--or print every one of ‘em, and own ‘em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.

_Wild_. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way--Your servant, Sir.--So, away with it to _Dresswell’s_ Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.

[_They carry off Sir_ Timothy, _and others take up the Bags, and go out with ‘em_.

_Dres_. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?

_Wild_. All’s safe, my Lads, the Writings all--

_Fop_. Come, let’s away then.

_Wild_. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.

_Fop_. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.

_Wild_. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.

_Fop_. And who shall bind the last Man?

_Wild_. Honest Laboir, d’ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d’ye hear me? Look to’t, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you’ll be hang’d, that’s certain. [_Ex_. Wild, _and_ Dres.

_Fop_. So, now will I i’th’ Morning to _Charlot_, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. [_Exit_ Fop.

Sir _Tim_. [_calls within_.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!

_Lab_. So, now’s my Cue--and stay, I am not yet sober. [_Puts himself into a drunken Posture_.

Sir _Tim_. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!

_Lab_. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, who’s there?

_Lab_. What doleful Voice is that?

Sir _Tim_. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [_In a doleful Tone_.

_Lab_. Very direful--why, what the Devil art thou?

Sir _Tim_. If thou’rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.

_Lab_. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit? [_Reeling in with a Lanthorn in’s Hand_.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, robb’d and bound. [_Coming out led by_ Laboir.

_Lab_. How, our generous Host!

Sir _Tim_. How, one of my Lord’s Servants! Alas, alas, how cam’st thou to escape?

_Lab_. E’en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under the Hall-Table with your Worship’s Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wak’d me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in’t, which helps me to serve your Worship. [_Goes to unbind his Hands_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour’s Chamber, for he, alas, is confined too.

_Lab_. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Well then, come, let’s to my Lord, whom if I be not asham’d to look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.

[_Exit Sir_ Tim. _and_ Lab.