Foig. No, joy.——
Gib. Then you and your absolution may go to the devil.
Arch. Convey him into the cellar, there bind him:—Take the pistol, and if he offers to resist, shoot him through the head,—and come back to us with all the speed you can.
Scrub. Ay, ay; come, doctor, do you hold him fast, and I'll guard him.
[Exeunt Scrub, Gibbet, and Foigard.
Mrs. Sul. But how came the doctor?
Arch. In short, madam——[Shrieking without.] 'Sdeath! the rogues are at work with the other ladies:—I'm vexed I parted with the pistol; but I must fly to their assistance—Will you stay here, madam, or venture yourself with me?
Mrs. Sul. Oh, with you, dear sir, with you.
[Takes him by the Arm, and exeunt.