SKIRMISH.
Turn the key, I pray.
CAPTAIN.
Who should those be? I almost know their voices.—
O my friends!
[Entering.]
Ya’re welcome to a smelling Room here. You newly took leave of the air; ist not a strange savour?
PYE.
As all prisons have: smells of sundry wretches,
Who, tho departed, leave their scents behind ’em.
By Gold, Captain, I am sincerely sorry for thee.
CAPTAIN. By my troth, George, I thank thee; but pish,—what must be, must be.
SKIRMISH. Captain, what do you lie in for? ist great? what’s your offence?
CAPTAIN. Faith, my offence is ordinary,—common: A High-way; and I fear me my penalty will be ordinary and common too: a halter.
PYE.
Nay, prophecy not so ill; it shall go heard,
But I’ll shift for thy life.
CAPTAIN. Whether I live or die, thou’art an honest George. I’ll tell you—silver flowed not with me, as it had done, (for now the tide runs to Bawds and flatterers.) I had a start out, and by chance set upon a fat steward, thinking his purse had been as pursey as his body; and the slave had about him but the poor purchase of ten groats: notwithstanding, being descried, pursued, and taken, I know the Law is so grim, in respect of many desperate, unsettled soldiers, that I fear me I shall dance after their pipe for’t.