Geo. Britton, a Million for a Ladder!
Man. Blessing on you, Sir, if you dare venture through the House; there lies one in the Fore-Garden.
Britt. The Passage is on fire, Sir, you cannot go.
Geo. Revenge is vanish’d, and Love takes its place: Soft Love, and mightier Friendship seizes all. I’ll save him, though I perish in the Attempt. Runs out, Britton after him.
Enter at another Door, Sir Rowland.
L. Blun. A thousand Pound for him that saves Sir Morgan!
Sir Row. And, do ye hear, let my Rogue lie; I’d rather he should be burnt, than hang’d on Tyburn Road, for murdering his Father.—But where’s Boy George?
Enter Men with Trunks.
Rog. Safe, Sir, I hope; he was not in the House.
Sir Row. So, so, away with these Trunks to my Lady Youthly’s in Southampton-Square, and tell her we must trouble her to night. Come, Sister, let’s away. Ex. Lady Blunder, and Sir Rowland.