Sir Jol. Run away! why then your estate will be forfeited; you'll lose your estate, man.
Sir Dav. Truly you say right, friend; and a man had better be half-hanged than lose his estate, you know.
Sir Jol. Hanged! no, no, I think there's no great fear of hanging neither: what, the fellow was but a sort of an unaccountable fellow, as I heard you say.
Sir Dav. Ay, ay, pox on him, he was a soldierly sort of a vagabond; he had little or nothing but his sins to live upon: if I could have had but patience, he would have been hanged within these two months, and all this mischief saved.
[Beaugard rises up like a ghost at the trap-door, just before Sir Davy.
O Lord! the devil, the devil, the devil! [Falls upon his face.
Sir Jol. Why, Sir Davy, Sir Davy, what ails you? what's the matter with you?
Sir Dav. Let me alone, let me lie still; I will not look up to see an angel; oh-h-h!
L. Dunce. My dear, why do you do these cruel things to affright me? Pray rise and speak to me.
Sir Dav. I dare not stir; I saw the ghost again just now.