Plotw. I hope, Sir, you will not expose us to the fury of the mob, since we came here upon so courteous a design.
Foss. Good courteous Mr. Mummy, without more ceremony, will it please you to retire to your subterraneous habitation. And you Mr. Crocodile, about your business this moment, or you shall change your Nile for the next horse-pond.
Clink. Spare my masqueraders.
Underp. Let it never be said that the famous Dr. Fossile, so renowned for his charity to monsters, should violate the laws of hospitality, and turn a poor alligator naked into the street.
Foss. Deposite your exuviæ then, and assume your human shape.
Underp. For that I must beg your excuse. A gentleman would not chuse to be known in these frolicks.
Foss. Then out of my doors, here footman, out with him; out, thou hypocrite, of an alligator.
[Underplot is turn'd out.
Sir, the respect I have for catacombs and pyramids, will not protect you.
[A noise of mob within.
Enter Prue.
Prue. Sir, Sir, lock your doors, or else all your monsters will run home again to the Indies. Your crocodile yonder has made his escape; if he get but to Somerset water-gate, he is gone for ever.
[Exit Prue.