BOLT. Ah, I think we have taken a cup too much.
NEW. It’s all up—we are floored. There they are—damn it, take this bull-dog—defend yourself.
(Gives BOLT a pistol.)
BOLT. So I will. (Holds it at NEWGATE’S head, and throws off mask.) Hollo! thieves! house! ho!
(MIZZLE enters L. with candle—stage light.)
COT. What the devil!—Why, Bolt!
BOLT. How d’ye do, sir?
COT. And this gentleman——?
BOLT. Came to lighten you of your odd moveables,—to fork out your knives, and dish your plates.
COT. Give me your hand, Bolt; you’re a fine fellow!