Humours of a Thief going to Execution.
Officers. Room for the prisoner there, room for the prisoner.
Footpad. Make room there; ’tis a strange thing a man cannot go to be hanged without crowding for it.
1st Fellow. Pray, Sir, were not you a kin to one Hinde?[322]
Footpad. No; I had run faster away then.
2d Fellow. Pray, prisoner, before your death clear your conscience, and tell me truly, &c.
(all ask him questions about robberies.)
Margery. I am sure you had my Lady’s gilt caudle cup.
Footpad. Yes, and would have kept it; but she has it again, has she not?
James. And the plate out of my buttery—