Gib. No.
Bon. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the house just now.
Gib. The devil! how d'ye smoke 'em? [110]
Bon. Why, the one is gone to church.
Gib. That's suspicious, I must confess.
Bon. And the other is now in his master's chamber; he pretends to be servant to the other; we 'll call him out and pump him a little.
Gib. With all my heart.
Bon. Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin! [Calls.
Enter Archer, combing a periwig and singing.
Gib. The roads are consumed deep, I'm as dirty as Old Brentford at Christmas.—A good pretty fellow that; whose servant are you, friend? [120]