Enter Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, and the rest, with more Bags.
Wild. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.
Dres. Nay, then ‘tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe—What hast thou here? [To Fop. who enters with a Bag full of Papers.
Fop. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn’d Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion’d Oath of Abjuration, call’d the Association.—Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?
Sir Tim. Say, Sir? why, I’ll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou’d communicate such Secrets to such as you? I’ll say you forg’d ‘em, and put ‘em in—or print every one of ‘em, and own ‘em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.
Wild. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way—Your servant, Sir.—So, away with it to Dresswell’s Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.
[They carry off Sir Timothy, and others take up the Bags, and go out with ‘em.
Dres. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?
Wild. All’s safe, my Lads, the Writings all—
Fop. Come, let’s away then.