Bac. Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.
Enter a Soldier.
Sold. Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples, which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there with all her Indian Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage from setting fire to the holy Pile.
Bac. Hang ’em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will fly to rescue her. Goes out, they bear off the King’s Body; Ex. all.
Enter Whimsey, pulling in Whiff, with a Halter about his Neck.
Whim. Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General comes.—What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so generously given us our freedom, and listed us [Cadees] for the next Command that fell in his Army—I’m resolved to hang thee—
Whiff. Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner—drinking at my own charge—
Whim. No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang thee—but as for thy drinking with me—I scorn to be behind-hand with thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee. Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.
Whiff. I can’t drink.
Whim. A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.