Col. Bully. No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.
Lord Rake. How the Witch his Wife howl'd!
Col. 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.
Col. Bully. How now? What have we got 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.