War. What mon I do noo? Lerd, ne mere Lerd than yar sel, Sir; wons I show ’em a fair pair of Heels.
[Goes to run away, they get him on a [Colt-staff], with Ananias on another, Fidlers playing [Fortune my Foe], round the Fire.
Cap. Play Fortune my Foe, Sirrah.
Enter Hewson, drest like a Country Fellow.
Cor. Who are you, Sirrah? you have the mark o’ th’ Beast.
Hews. Who aye, Sir? Aye am a Doncer, that [come a merry-making] among ya—
Cap. Come, Sirrah, your Feats of Activity quickly then.
[He dances; which ended, they get him on a Colt-staff, and cry a Cobler, a Cobler.
All. A Cobler, a Cobler.
Cap. To Prison with the Traytors, and then we have made a good Night’s work on’t.