Bel. If he gets his Pardon, Sir—
Sir Feeb. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.
Bel. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that’s some amends for robbing him of his Wife.
Sir Feeb. Hold, honest Francis: What, dost think ‘twas in kindness to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he’s defunct, trust up, hang’d, Francis.
Bel. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.
Sir Feeb. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.
Bel. But have you got his Pardon?—
Sir Feeb. I’ve done’t, I’ve done’t; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though: Here ‘tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [Gives it him.
Bel. This was a lucky hit—and if it scape me, let me be hang’d by a Trick indeed. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. So, put it into my Cabinet,—safe, Francis, safe.