Well. You say well, Mr. Dunce, and we’ll dispatch you presently.
Ex. Well. Down. and all but Whim. Whiff. and Dunce.
Whiff. Ah, Doctor, if you could but have persuaded Colonel Wellman and Colonel Downright to have hanged him—
Whim. Why, Brother Whiff, you were for making him a General but now.
Whiff. The Counsels of wise States-men, Brother Whimsey, must change as Causes do, d’ye see.
Dun. Your Honours are in the right; and whatever those two leading Counsellors say, they would be glad if Bacon were dispatch’d: but the punctilio of Honour is such a thing.
Whim. Honour, a Pox on’t; what is that Honour that keeps such a bustle in the World, yet never did good as I heard of?
Dun. Why, ’tis a foolish word only, taken up by great Men, but rarely practis’d.—But if you wou’d be great Men indeed—
Whiff. [If we wou’d], Doctor, name, name the way.
Dun. Why, you command each of you a Company—when Bacon comes from the Camp, as I am sure he will, (and full of this silly thing call’d Honour, will come unguarded too) lay some of your Men in Ambush along those Ditches by the Sevana, about a Mile from the Town; and as he comes by, seize him, and hang him up upon the next Tree.