Act 5 — SCENE I. Sir Timothy’s House.

Enter Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, and five or six more disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns.

Fop. Not yet! a plague of this damn’d Widow: The Devil ow’d him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.

Enter Wild, in Rapture and Joy.

—Hah, dear Tom, art thou come?

Wild. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!

Fop. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let’s dress and about our Business.

Wild. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design’d for Love and Play!

Dres. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? ‘tis almost day.

Wild. Ah, Frank, such a dear Night!

Dress. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ’d to remember.

Wild. The Day to come! Death, who cou’d be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond ‘em! And had I not been interrupted by Charles Meriwill, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I’d had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come—my Disguise. [Dresses.

Dres. All’s still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.

Wild. ‘Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I’ll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider’d, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,’.will be easy to suspect the Thief.

Fop. Right; and since ‘tis for the securing our Necks, ‘tis lawful Prize—Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. [Exeunt as into the House.

After a small time, Enter Jervice undres’d, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves.

Jer. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!

Enter Wilding with his Sword drawn.

Wild. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in’s Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle’s chief Pimp—so—

[They bind and gag him. Enter Dresswell, and Laboir.

Dres. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e’er they cou’d alarm their Fellows by crying out.

Wild. ‘Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps—this Door leads to my Uncle’s Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.

[All go in, leaving Jervice bound on the Stage.

Enter Sensure running half undressed, as from Sir Timothy’s Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders.

Sen. Help, help! Murder! Murder! [Dres. Lab. and others pursue her.

Dres. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman’s Bed? [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.

Sen. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.

Dres. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.

Sen. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.

Dres. That’s well—The sanctify’d Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her Neck. [Pulls off the Coat.

Sen. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship’s Coat for my Gown. [A little Book drops out of her Bosom.

Dres. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.

Sen. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz’d! I went but to tuck his Worship up.

Dres. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply—Here, gag, and bind her. [Exit Dres.

Sen. Hold, hold, I am with Child!

Lab. Then you’ll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.

Enter Wild. Fop. and others, leading in Sir Timothy in his Night-gown and Night-Gap.

Sir Tim. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about—Pity my Age.

Wild. Damn’d beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity—

Sir Tim. Oh, fearful—But, Gentlemen, what is’t you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim’d at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.

Wild. How, Sirrah! [Fiercely, he starts.

Sir Tim. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I’ve done for him, d’ye see—

Fop. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the Pope?

Sir Tim. Why, Sir, an’t like ye, I have done you very great Service, very great Service; for I have been, d’ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe ’.m hereafter, shou’d they swear against his Holiness and all the Conclave of Cardinals.

Wild. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good Cause.

Sir Tim. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural Agility in turning—I shall whip about yet, and leave ‘em all in the Lurch.

Wild. ‘Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word for that.

Sir Tim. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv’d to assassinate me then?

Wild. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou’d not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person—Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.

Fop. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready—

Sir Tim. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [Smiling on ‘em.] Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I make now to accommodate you?—But if you please to come again to morrow—

Fop. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money. [Aloud and threatning.

Sir Tim. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to night; I wou’d not for the world his Lordship shou’d be disturb’d.

Wild. Take no care for him, he’s fast bound and all his Retinue.

Sir Tim. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac’d! What will the Polanders say, that I shou’d expose their Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?

Wild. Bind him, and take away his Keys.

[They bind him hand and foot, and take his Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all.

Sir Tim. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord’s bound—Oh, what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who’s there, Jervice? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? but ‘tis no matter and I were dumb too; for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?—And then my Heiress, Jervice, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she’ll be ravisht: Oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, Jervice; nay, perhaps as thou say’st, they’ll carry her away.—Oh, that thought! Gad, I rather the City-Charter were lost. [Enter some with Bags of Money. —Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.

Fop. What, do you mutter, Dog?

Sir Tim. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well—Barbarous Rogues. [They go out all again.] Here’s your arbitrary Power, Jervice; here’s the Rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye—we’ll spare neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.

Enter Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, and the rest, with more Bags.

Wild. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.

Dres. Nay, then ‘tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe—What hast thou here? [To Fop. who enters with a Bag full of Papers.

Fop. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn’d Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion’d Oath of Abjuration, call’d the Association.—Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?

Sir Tim. Say, Sir? why, I’ll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou’d communicate such Secrets to such as you? I’ll say you forg’d ‘em, and put ‘em in—or print every one of ‘em, and own ‘em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.

Wild. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way—Your servant, Sir.—So, away with it to Dresswell’s Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.

[They carry off Sir Timothy, and others take up the Bags, and go out with ‘em.

Dres. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?

Wild. All’s safe, my Lads, the Writings all—

Fop. Come, let’s away then.

Wild. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.

Fop. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.

Wild. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.

Fop. And who shall bind the last Man?

Wild. Honest Laboir, d’ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d’ye hear me? Look to’t, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you’ll be hang’d, that’s certain. [Ex. Wild, and Dres.

Fop. So, now will I i’th’ Morning to Charlot, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. [Exit Fop.

Sir Tim. [calls within.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!

Lab. So, now’s my Cue—and stay, I am not yet sober. [Puts himself into a drunken Posture.

Sir Tim. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!

Lab. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.

Sir Tim. Hah, who’s there?

Lab. What doleful Voice is that?

Sir Tim. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [In a doleful Tone.

Lab. Very direful—why, what the Devil art thou?

Sir Tim. If thou’rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.

Lab. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit? [Reeling in with a Lanthorn in’s Hand.

Sir Tim. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir Timothy Treat-all, robb’d and bound. [Coming out led by Laboir.

Lab. How, our generous Host!

Sir Tim. How, one of my Lord’s Servants! Alas, alas, how cam’st thou to escape?

Lab. E’en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under the Hall-Table with your Worship’s Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wak’d me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in’t, which helps me to serve your Worship. [Goes to unbind his Hands.

Sir Tim. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour’s Chamber, for he, alas, is confined too.

Lab. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.

Sir Tim. Well then, come, let’s to my Lord, whom if I be not asham’d to look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.

[Exit Sir Tim. and Lab.