Gib. Absolution! can you procure me a pardon, doctor?
Foi. No, joy—
Gib. Then you and your absolution may to the devil! [199]
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.
[Exit Foigard with Gibbet, Scrub following.
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? [211]
Mrs. Sul. [Taking him by the arm.] Oh, with you, dear sir, with you. [Exeunt.