Scrub. Eh! my dear brother, let me kiss thee!
[Kisses Archer.
Arch. This way——Here——
[Archer and Scrub hide.
Enter Gibbet, with a dark Lanthorn in one Hand,
and a Pistol in the other.
Gib. Ay, ay, this is the chamber, and the lady alone.
Mrs. Sul. Who are you, sir? What would you have? D'ye come to rob me?
Gib. Rob you! alack a day, madam, I'm only a younger brother, madam; and so, madam, if you make a noise, I'll shoot you through the head: but don't be afraid, madam. [Laying his Lanthorn and Pistol upon the Table.] These rings, madam; don't be concerned, madam; I have a profound respect for you, madam; your keys, madam; don't be frighted, madam; I'm the most of a gentleman. [Searching her Pockets.] This necklace, madam; I never was rude to any lady! I have a veneration—for this necklace.
[Here Archer, having come round, and seized
the Pistol, takes Gibbet by the Collar, trips
up his Heels, and claps the Pistol to his Breast.
Arch. Hold, profane villain, and take the reward of thy sacrilege.