SCENE II.--_A Room in_ Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE _and_ VERMIN.

_Sir Dav._ I cannot sleep, I shall never sleep again: I have prayed too so long, that were I to be hanged presently, I have never a prayer left to help myself: I was no sooner lain down upon the bed just now, and fallen into a slumber, but methought the devil was carrying me down Ludgate-hill a-gallop, six puny fiends with flaming fire-forks running before him like link-boys, to throw me headlong into Fleetditch, which seemed to be turned into a lake of fire and brimstone: would it were morning!

_Ver._ Truly, sir, it has been a very dismal night.

_Sir Dav._ But didst thou meet never a white thing upon the stairs?

_Ver._ No, sir, not I; but methoughts I saw our great dog Towzer, with his brass collar on, stand at the cellar-door as I came along the old entry.

_Sir Dav._ It could never be: Towzer has a chain; had this thing a chain on?

_Ver._ No, sir, no chain, but it had Towzer's eyes for all the world.

_Sir Dav._ What, ugly, great, frightful eyes?

_Ver._ Ay, ay, huge saucer eyes, but mightily like Towzer's.

_Sir Dav._ O Lord! O Lord! hark! hark!

_Ver._ What? what I beseech you, sir?

_Sir Dav._ What's that upon the stairs? Didst thou hear nothing? Hist, hark, pat, pat, pat, hark, hey!

_Ver._ Hear nothing! where, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Look! look! what's that? what's that in the corner there?

_Ver._ Where?

_Sir Dav._ There.

_Ver._ What, upon the iron chest?

_Sir Dav._ No, the long black thing up by the old clock-case. See! see! now it stirs, and is coming this way.

_Ver._ Alas, sir, speak to it--you are a justice o' peace--I beseech you. I dare not stay in the house: I'll call the watch, and tell 'em hell's broke loose; what shall I do? oh! [_Exit._

_Sir Dav._ O Vermin, if thou art a true servant, have pity on thy master, and do not forsake me in this distressed condition. Satan, begone! I defy thee. I'll repent and be saved, I'll say my prayers, I'll go to church; help! help! help! Was there anything or no? in what hole shall I hide myself? [_Exit._

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY, FOURBIN, _and_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Sir Jol._ That should be Sir Davy's voice; the waiting-woman, indeed, told me he was afraid and could not sleep. Pretty fellows, pretty fellows both; you've done your business handsomely; what, I'll warrant you have been a-whoring together now; ha! You do well, you do well, I like you the better for't; what's o'clock?

_Four._ Near four, sir; 'twill not be day yet these two hours.

_Sir Jol._ Very well, but how got ye into the house?

_Four._ A ragged retainer of the family, Vermin I think they call him, let us in as physicians sent for by your order.

_Sir Jol._ Excellent rogues! and then I hope all things are ready, as I gave directions?

_Four._ To a tittle, sir; there shall not be a more critical observer of your worship's pleasure than your humble servant the Chevalier Fourbin.

_Sir Jol._ Get you gone, you rogue, you have a sharp nose, and are a nimble fellow; I have no more to say to you, stand aside, and be ready when I call: here he comes; hist, hem, hem, hem.

[_Exeunt_ FOURBIN _and_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Re-enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav._ Ha! what art thou? Approach thou like the rugged Bankside bear, The East-cheap bull, or monster shown in fair,-- Take any shape but that, and I'll confront thee!

_Sir Jol._ Alas, unhappy man! I am thy friend.

_Sir Dav._ Thou canst not be my friend, for I defy thee. Sir Jolly! neighbour! ha! is it you? are you sure it is you? are you yourself? if you be, give me your hand. Alas-a-day, I ha' seen the devil.

_Sir Jol._ The devil, neighbour?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, ay, there's no help for't; at first I fancied it was a young white bear's cub dancing in the shadow of my candle; then it was turned to a pair of blue breeches with wooden legs on, stamped about the room, as if all the cripples in town had kept their rendezvous there; when all of a sudden, it appeared like a leathern serpent, and with a dreadful clap of thunder flew out of the window.

_Sir Jol._ Thunder! why, I heard no thunder.

_Sir Dav._ That may be too; what, were you asleep?

_Sir Jol._ Asleep, quoth-a? no, no; no sleeping this night for me, I assure you.

_Sir Dav._ Well, what's the best news then? How does the man?

_Sir Jol._ Even as he did before he was born nothing at all; he's dead.

_Sir Dav._ Dead! what, quite dead?

_Sir Jol._ As good as dead, if not quite dead; 'twas a horrid murder! and then the terror of conscience, neighbour.

_Sir Dav._ And truly I have a very terrified one, friend, though I never found I had any conscience at all till now. Pray whereabout was his death's-wound?

_Sir Jol._ Just here, just under his left pap, a dreadful gash.

_Sir Dav._ So very wide?

_Sir Jol._ Oh, as wide as my hat; you might have seen his lungs, liver, and heart, as perfectly as if you had been in his belly.

_Sir Dav._ Is there no way to have him privately buried, and conceal this murder? Must I needs be hanged by the neck like a dog, neighbour? Do I look as if I would be hanged?

_Sir Jol._ Truly, Sir Davy, I must deal faithfully with you, you do look a little suspiciously at present; but have you seen the devil, say you?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, surely it was the devil, nothing else could have frighted me so.

_Sir Jol._ Bless us, and guard us all the angels! what's that?

_Sir Dav._ "Potestati sempiternæ cujus benevolentiâ servantur gentes, et cujus misericordiâ"--

[_Kneels, holding up his hands, and muttering as if he prayed._

_Sir Jol._ Neighbour, where are you, friend, Sir Davy?

_Sir Dav._ Ah, whatever you do, be sure to stand close to me: where, where is it?

_Sir Jol._ Just, just there, in the shape of a coach and six horses against the wall.

_Sir Dav._ Deliver us all! he won't carry me away in that coach and six, will he?

_Sir Jol._ Do you see it? [_Exit._

_Sir Dav._ See it! plain, plain: dear friend, advise me what I shall do: Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, do you hear nothing? Sir Jolly--ha! has he left me alone, Vermin?

_Ver._ Sir.

_Sir Dav._ Am I alive? Dost thou know me again? Am I thy quondam master, Sir Davy Dunce?

_Ver._ I hope I shall never forget you, sir.

_Sir Dav._ Didst thou see nothing?

_Ver._ Yes, sir, methought the house was all a-fire, as it were.

_Sir Dav._ Didst thou not see how the devils grinned and gnashed their teeth at me, Vermin?

_Ver._ Alas, sir, I was afraid one of 'em would have bit off my nose, as he vanished out of the door.

_Sir Dav._ Lead me away, I'll go to my wife, I'll die by my own dear wife. Run away to the Temple, and call Counsellor, my lawyer; I'll make over my estate presently, I shan't live till noon; I'll give all I have to my wife. Ha, Vermin!

_Ver._ Truly, sir, she's a very good lady.

_Sir Dav._ Ah, much, much too good for me, Vermin; thou canst not imagine what she has done for me, man; she would break her heart if I should give any thing away from her, she loves me so dearly. Yet if I do die, thou shalt have all my old shoes.

_Ver._ I hope to see you live many a fair day yet though.

_Sir Dav._ Ah, my wife, my poor wife! lead me to my poor wife. [_Exeunt._