Down. Issue out a Warrant to seize Dunce immediately—you shall be carry’d to the Fort to pray.
Whim. Oh, good your Honour, I never pray’d in all my Life.
Down. From thence drawn upon a Sledge to the place of Execution—where you shall hang till you are dead—and then be cut down and—
Whim. Oh, hold—hold—we shall never be able to endure half this. Kneeling.
Well. I think the Offence needs not so great Punishment; their Crime, Sir, is but equal to your own, acting without Commission.
Bac. ’Tis very well explained, Sir,—had I been murder’d by Commission then, the Deed had been approved, and now perhaps I am beholding to the Rabble for my Life.
Well. A fine Pretence to hide a popular Fault, but for this once we pardon them and you.
Bac. Pardon! for what? by Heaven, I scorn your Pardon, I’ve not offended Honour nor Religion.
Well. You have offended both in taking Arms.
Bac. Should I stand by and see my Country ruin’d, my King dishonour’d, and his Subjects murder’d, hear the sad Crys of Widows and of Orphans? you heard it loud, but gave no pitying [care] to’t, and till the War and Massacre was brought to my own door, my Flocks and Herds surprized, I bore it all with Patience. Is it unlawful to defend my self against a Thief that breaks into my Doors?