Bully. Ay, she’ll alarm the Watch presently.
Lord Rake. Appear, Knight, then; come you have a good Cause to fight for, there’s a Man murder’d.
Sir John. Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy’d, for I’ll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his body upon his wooden Chair.
Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm
Bully. How now; what have we here? a Thief.
Taylor. No, an’t please you, I’m no Thief.
Lord Rake. That we’ll see presently: Here; let the General examine him.
Sir John. Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I’ll lay a Hundred Pound I find him guilty in spite of his Teeth—for he looks—like a—sneaking Rascal.
Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them—I shall guess at your Morals.
Taylor. An’t please you, I’m a Dissenting Journyman Taylor.