Act IV Scene, Covent Garden
Enter Lord Rake, Sir John, &c., With Swords Drawn
Lord Rake. Is the Dog dead?
Bully. No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.
Lord Rake. How the Witch his Wife howl’d!
Bully. Ay, she’ll alarm the Watch presently.
Lord Rake. Appear, Knight, then; come you have a good Cause to fight for, there’s a Man murder’d.
Sir John. Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy’d, for I’ll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his body upon his wooden Chair.
Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm
Bully. How now; what have we here? a Thief.
Taylor. No, an’t please you, I’m no Thief.
Lord Rake. That we’ll see presently: Here; let the General examine him.
Sir John. Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I’ll lay a Hundred Pound I find him guilty in spite of his Teeth—for he looks—like a—sneaking Rascal.
Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them—I shall guess at your Morals.
Taylor. An’t please you, I’m a Dissenting Journyman Taylor.
Sir John. Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your Crimes—I’ll have you first gagg’d—and then hang’d.
Taylor. Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don’t abuse me; indeed I’m an honest Man, and a good Workman, tho I say it, that shou’d not say it.
Sir John. No words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.
Lord Rake. Let me see what’s in that Bundle.
Taylor. An’t please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish’s Gown.
Lord Rake. The Doctor’s Gown!—Hark you, Knight, you won’t stick at abusing the Clergy, will you?
Sir John. No. I’m drunk, and I’ll abuse anything—but my wife; and her I name—with Reverence.
Lord Rake. Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the Watch: That tho the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon the Church.
Sir John. A generous Design—by all the Gods—give it me.
(Takes the Gown, and puts it on.)
Taylor. O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the Gown.
Sir John. Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin—go home, and be happy.
Taylor. (Pausing.) I think I had e’en as good follow the Gentleman’s friendly Advice; for if I dispute any longer, who knows but the Whim may take him to case me? These Courtiers are fuller of Tricks than they are of Money; they’ll sooner cut a Man’s Throat, than pay his Bill.
(Exit Taylor.)
Sir John. So, how d’ye like my Shapes now?
Lord Rake. This will do to a Miracle; he looks like a Bishop going to the Holy War. But to your Arms, Gentlemen, the Enemy appears.
Enter Constable and Watch
Watchman. Stand! Who goes there? Come before the Constable.
Sir John. The Constable’s a Rascal—and you are the Son of a Whore.
Watchman. A good civil answer for a Parson, truly!
Constable. Methinks, Sir, a Man of your Coat might set a better Example.
Sir John. Sirrah, I’ll make you know—there are Men of my Coat can set as bad Examples—as you can, you Dog you.
(Sir John strikes the Constable. They knock him down, disarm him, and seize him. Lord Rake &c. run away.)
Constable. So, we have secur’d the Parson however.
Sir John. Blood, and Blood—and Blood.
Watchman. Lord have mercy upon us! How the wicked Wretch raves of Blood. I’ll warrant he has been murdering some body tonight.
Sir John. Sirrah, there’s nothing got by Murder but a Halter: My Talent lies towards Drunkenness and Simony.
Watchman. Why that now was spoke like a Man of Parts, Neighbours; it’s pity he should be so disguis’d.
Sir John. You lye—I’m not disguis’d; for I am drunk bare-fac’d.
Watchman. Look you here again—This is a mad Parson, Mr. Constable; I’ll lay a Pot of Ale upon’s Head, he’s a good Preacher.
Constable. Come, Sir, out of Respect to your Calling, I shan’t put you into the Round house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-Room till Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.
Sir John. You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have overcome me—But if I can’t do Mischief, I’ll think of Mischief—in spite of your Teeth, you Dog you.
(Exeunt.)52
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