Gent. So I am, Sir——no Thanks to the Court.
Esop. You are then, I suppose, employ'd by——
Gent. My Country.
Esop. Who have made you——
Gent. A Senator.
Esop. Sir, I reverence you.
[Bowing.
Gent. Sir, you may reverence as low as you please; but I shall spare none of you. Sir, I am intrusted by my Country with above ten Thousand of their Grievances, and, in order to redress them, my Design is to hang ten thousand Courtiers.
Esop. Why, 'tis making short Work, I must confess; but are you sure, Sir, that wou'd do't?
Gent. Sure,——Ay, sure.