Feth. Nay, I’ll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have him hang’d for a Witch.
Shift. Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their Portion, what wou’d you more? [Aside to the Guar.
Look ye, Sir. [Pulls off their Disguise.
Blunt. Hunt!
Feth. Shift! We are betray’d: all will out to the Captain.
Will. He shall know no more of it than he does already for me, Gentlemen. [Pulls off his Disguise.
Blunt. Willmore!
Feth. Ay, ay,’tis he.
Blunt. Draw, Sir—you know me—
Will. —For one that ’tis impossible to cozen. [All laugh.