Lov. And our Oxes, with the help of their Wives. [Aside.
Lam. Besides, the City’s rich, and near her time, I hope, of being deliver’d.
War. Wons a gued, wad I’d the laying o’ her, she shou’d be sweetly brought to Bed, by my Sol.
Des. The City cares for no Scotch Pipers, my Lord.
War. By my Sol, but [she has danc’d after] the gued Pipe of Reformation, when the Covenant Jigg gang’d maryly round, Sirs.
Clerk. My Lords, here are some poor malignant Petitioners.
Lam. Oh, turn ’em out, here’s nothing for ’em; these Fellows were petitioning my Lady to day—I thought she had given you a satisfactory Answer,
Lov. She did indeed, my Lord: but ’tis a hard Case, to take away a Gentleman’s Estate, without convicting him of any Crime.
Lam. Oh, Sir, we shall prove that hereafter.
Lov. But to make sure Work, you’ll hang a Man first and examine his Offence afterwards; a Plague upon your Consciences: My Friend here had a little fairer Play; your Villains, your Witnesses in Pension swore him a Colonel for our glorious Master, of ever blessed Memory, at eight Years old; a Plague upon their Miracles.