PRIG. I’m bless’d if I like it. Oh—h! I must put on the mask; (does so;) old Cotton knows my good-looking face as well as his own: if he caught a glimpse of me, I should be caught too.
(BOLT rushes on him, and throws him down.)
BOLT. So you are, my chicken; think yourself lucky if you don’t get your neck twisted.
MIZ. Bravo, Charley! I’ll stand and see fair play.—Take care number one don’t come and fire some Dartford superfine in your face.
PRIG. Oh, sir, I am very unwilling to be hanged.
BOLT. Then, most worthy character, take off that mask, as I have unmasked you—take off that great coat, as I have dismantled your villainy—and your hat off, because, because, I want it—and now take yourself off.
PRIG. Yes, yes! I’ll reform!—I feel a moral change already.
(Runs off, R.)
(BOLT dressing in PRIG’S clothes.)