L. Des. No matter, I’m better lost than found on such occasions. [Exeunt.
[ Scene V.] [A Street]; a great Bonfire, with Spits, and Rumps roasting, and the Mobile about the Fire, with Pots, Bottles, Fiddles.
1 Pren. Here, Jack, a Health to the King.
2 Pren. Let it pass, Lad, and next to the noble General.
1 Pren. Ralph, baste the Rump well, or ne’er hope to see a King agen.
3 Pren. The Rump will baste it self, it has been well cram’d.
Enter Freeman, L. Des. Loveless, and L. Lam. [Gill. Tom, Pages], &c.
Cap. Hah, Noble Champion, faith, Sir, you must honour us so far as to drink the King’s Health, and the noble General’s, before you go.
Enter Wariston, drest like a Pedlar, with a Box about his Neck full of Ballads and Things.
War. Will ya buy a guedly Ballat or a Scotch Spur, Sirs? a guedly Ballat, or a Scotch Spur.—’Sbread, I’s scapt hitherte weele enough, I’s say’d my Crag fro stretching twa Inches longer than ’twas borne: will ya buy a Jack-line to roast the Rump, a new Jack Lambert Line?—or a blithe Ditty of the Noble Scotch General?—come buy my Ditties.