Dull. Hum—and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of Treason—
Tim. Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by a Council of War, Man—Come, come, let’s disarm him—
They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket.
Whiff. What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my last comfort.
Tim. Gads zoors, it’s come in good time—we’ll drink it off, here, Major— Drinks, Whiff takes him aside.
Whiff. Hark ye, Cornet—you are my good Friend, get this matter made up before it come to the General.
Tim. But this is Treason, Neighbour.
Whiff. If I hang—I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your War-Captain.
Tim. Come, Brother Whimsey—we have been all Friends and loving Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this Business.
Dull. Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us all.—Put it up—and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest Resolution to run away together; for this same Frightall minds nothing but Fighting.