Fear. Did not the General tell you Rogues, you’d be all hang’d?
Whiff. Oh, Nancy, Nancy, how prophetick are thy Dreams!
Bac. Come, lets on—
Dar. S’death, what mean you, Sir?
Bac. As I designed—to present my self to the Council.
Dar. By Heavens, we’ll follow then to save you from their Treachery, ’twas this that has befallen you that I feared, which made me at a distance follow you.
Bac. Follow me still, but still at such a distance as your Aids may be assisting on all occasions.—Fearless, go back and bring your Regiment down; and Daring, let your Sergeant with his Party guard these Villains to the Council. Ex. Bac. Dar. and Fearless.
Whiff. A Pox on your Worship’s Plot.
Whim. A Pox of your forwardness to come out of the Hedge.
Ex. Officers, with Whim. and Whiff.