Mrs. Sul. Pray, sir, don't kill him: you fright me as much as him. [179]
Arch. The dog shall die, madam, for being the occasion of my disappointment.—Sirrah, this moment is your last.
Gib. Sir, I 'll give you two hundred pounds to spare my life.
Arch. Have you no more, rascal?
Gib. Yes, sir, I can command four hundred, but I must reserve two of 'em to save my life at the sessions.
Re-enter Scrub and Foigard.
Arch. Here, doctor, I suppose Scrub and you between you may manage him. Lay hold of him, doctor.
[Foigard lays hold of Gibbet.
Gib. What! turned over to the priest already!— Look 'ee, doctor, you come before your time; I an't condemned yet, I thank ye. [192]
Foi. Come, my dear joy; I vill secure your body and your shoul too; I vill make you a good catholic, and give you an absolution.