Sen. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship’s Coat for my Gown. [A little Book drops out of her Bosom.
Dres. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.
Sen. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz’d! I went but to tuck his Worship up.
Dres. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply—Here, gag, and bind her. [Exit Dres.
Sen. Hold, hold, I am with Child!
Lab. Then you’ll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.
Enter Wild. Fop. and others, leading in Sir Timothy in his Night-gown and Night-Gap.
Sir Tim. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about—Pity my Age.
Wild. Damn’d beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity—
Sir Tim. Oh, fearful—But, Gentlemen, what is’t you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim’d at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.