Whistle up the marching tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder,
At the Rising of the Moon.
Sergeant: If you don’t stop that, I’ll arrest you.
(A whistle from below answers, repeating the air.)
Sergeant: That’s a signal. (Stands between him and steps.) You must not pass this way.... Step farther back.... Who are you? You are no ballad-singer.
Man: You needn’t ask who I am; that placard will tell you. (Points to placard.)
Sergeant: You are the man I am looking for.
Man: (Takes off hat and wig. Sergeant seizes them.) I am. There’s a hundred pounds on my head. There is a friend of mine below in a boat. He knows a safe place to bring me to.
Sergeant: (Looking still at hat and wig.) It’s a pity! It’s a pity. You deceived me. You deceived me well.