RESOLUTE.
I thank you, Sarah Scarlett.
SARAH
(delightedly).
Come, then!
FAUNCH
(singing, as he puts his fiddle under his chin, while Scarlett tosses a wreath in the air).
"Fortune, my foe, why dost thou frown on me,
And will thy favors——"
TIB
(rushing wildly in from right).
Hush your music, Faunch! Down with your trumpery, Simon! The Puritans are upon us—Pritchard and Norcross and Warren and Hilton—all a-marching up the hill! Armed to the teeth they are, Simon, and there's not an ounce of shot amongst us!
SCARLETT
(as Puritans begin to appear, right).
Zounds! They're upon us!