Wild. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.
Fop. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.
Wild. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.
Fop. And who shall bind the last Man?
Wild. Honest Laboir, d’ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d’ye hear me? Look to’t, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you’ll be hang’d, that’s certain. [Ex. Wild, and Dres.
Fop. So, now will I i’th’ Morning to Charlot, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. [Exit Fop.
Sir Tim. [calls within.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these
Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho!
Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!
Lab. So, now’s my Cue—and stay, I am not yet sober. [Puts himself into a drunken Posture.
Sir Tim. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!
Lab. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.