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—