Lov. No, I resign that Title to the brave Scotch General, who has just now enter’d the City.
Capt. We know it, Sir; do you not observe how the Crop-ear’d Fanaticks trot out of Town?—The Rogues began their old belov’d Mutiny, but ’twould not do.
Lov. A Pox upon ’em, they went out like the Snuff of a Candle, stinkingly and blinkingly.
1 Pr. Ay, ay, let ’em hang themselves, and then they are cold Meat for the Devil.
Capt. But, noble Champion, I hope we may have leave to roast the Rump to night.
Lov. With all our Hearts, here’s Mony to make Fires—
Free. And here’s for Drink to’t, Boys.
All. Hey—[Viva le Roy, viva] les Heroicks! [Go out hollowing.
Enter Ananias peeping, Felt-maker, and Joyner.
Ana. So, the Rabble’s gone: ah, Brethren! what will this wicked World come to?