Felt. Alack, alack, to no Goodness, you may be sure: pray what’s the News?
[Fleet. peeping out of a Garret-Window.
Fleet. Anania, Anania!
Ana. Who calleth Ananias? lo, here am I.
Fleet. Behold, it is I, look up. How goeth tidings?
Ana. Full [ill, I fear; ’tis a bad] Omen to see your Lordship so nigh Heaven; when the Saints are Garretified.
Fleet. I am fortifying my self against the Evil-Day.
Ana. Which is come upon us like a Thief in the night; like a Torrent from the Mountain of Waters, or a Whirlwind from the Wilderness.
Fleet. Why, what has the Scotch General done?
Ana. Ah! he playeth the Devil with the Saints in the City, because they put the Covenant-Oath unto him; he pulls up their Gates, their Posts and Chains, and enters.