Sold. Yes, that was certaine he that ridd of by us, When we stood close ith' brakes.
Cap. A devill take it! How are we cozend! pox of our goodly providence! If he get home or if the Cuntry know it!
Sold. Make haste, he is yet unmand: we may come time enough
To enter with him. Besides there's this advantage:
They that are left behind, instead of helping
A Boores Cart ore the Bridge, loden with hay,
Have crackt the ax-tree with a trick, and there it stands
And choakes the Bridge from drawing.
Cap. There's some hope yet. Away and clap on spurs: he shall scape hardly If none of us salute him. Mounte, mounte.
[Exeunt.
Enter Modesbargen & Huntesmen.
Mod. Hell take this hay! 'tis set on purpose here:
Fire it and draw the Bridge: clap faggotts on't
And fire the Cart and all. No Boores come in yet?
Where be your Musketts, Slaves?
Hunt. We have no powder, Sir.
Mod. You have sold me, Rogues, betrayd me: fire the Cart, I say, Or heave it into th' Moat.
Hunt. We have not men enough. Will ye goe in? the Cuntry will rise presently, And then you shall see, Sir, how wee'll buckle with 'em.