Arch. 'Sdeath, if you love her a hair's breadth beyond discretion, you must go no farther.
Aim. Well, well, any thing to deliver us from sauntering away our idle evenings at White's, Tom's, or Will's—But now——
Arch. Ay, now is the time to prevent all this—Strike while the iron is hot—The priest is the luckiest part of our adventure; he shall marry you, and pimp for me. But here comes the doctor; I shall be ready.[Exit.
Enter Foigard.
Foig. Shave you, noble friend.
Aim. O sir, your servant; Pray, doctor, may I crave your name?
Foig. Fat naam is upon me? My naam is Foigard, joy.
Aim. Foigard! a very good name for a clergyman; Pray, Doctor Foigard, were you ever in Ireland?
Foig. Ireland! No, joy:—Fat sort of plaace is dat shame Ireland? Dey say de people are catched dere when dey are young.
Aim. And some of them here, when they are old;—as for example—[Takes Foigard by the Shoulder.] Sir, I arrest you as a traitor against the government; you are a subject of England, and this morning showed me a commission, by which you served as chaplain in the French army: This is death by our law, and your reverence must hang for't.