Enter Bacon, after him the Rabble with Staves and Clubs, bringing in Whim. and Whiff bound.
Well. What means this Insolence?—What, Mr. Bacon, do you come in Arms?
Bac. I’d need, Sir, come in Arms, when Men that should be honourable can have so poor Designs to take my Life.
Well. Thrust out his following Rabble.
1st Rab. We’ll not stir till we have the General safe back again.
Bac. Let not your Loves be too officious—but retire—
1st Rab. At your Command we vanish.— The Rabble retire.
Bac. I hope you’ll pardon me, if in my own defence I seized on these two Murderers.
Down. You did well, Sir, ’twas by no order they acted—stand forth and hear your Sentence—in time of War we need no formal Tryals to hang Knaves that act without order.
Whiff. Oh, Mercy, Mercy, Colonel—’twas Parson Dunce’s Plot.