safety.

MARTIN
Now that is wilful.

FRANCIS
But can any tell me the place of his concealment?

PETER
That cannot I; but I have my conjectures.

DANIEL
Two hundred pounds, as I hear, to the man that shall apprehend him.

FRANCIS
Well, I have my suspicions.

PETER
And so have I.

MARTIN
And I can keep a secret.

FRANCIS
(_To Peter_.) Warwickshire you mean. (_Aside_.)

PETER
Perhaps not.

FRANCIS
Nearer perhaps.

PETER
I say nothing.

DANIEL
I hope there is none in this company would be mean enough to betray him.

ALL
O Lord, surely not. (_They drink to Sir Walter's safety_.)

FRANCIS
I have often wondered how our master came to be excepted by name in the
late Act of Oblivion.

DANIEL
Shall I tell the reason?

ALL
Aye, do.

DANIEL
'Tis thought he is no great friend to the present happy establishment.

ALL
O! monstrous!

PETER
Fellow servants, a thought strikes me.--Do we, or do we not, come under
the penalties of the treason-act, by reason of our being privy to this
man's concealment.

ALL
Truly a sad consideration.

_To them enters Sandford suddenly._

SANDFORD
You well-fed and unprofitable grooms,
Maintained for state, not use;
You lazy feasters at another's cost,
That eat like maggots into an estate,
And do as little work,
Being indeed but foul excrescences,
And no just parts in a well-order'd family;
You base and rascal imitators,
Who act up to the height your master's vices,
But cannot read his virtues in your bond:
Which of you, as I enter'd, spake of betraying?
Was it you, or you, or, thin-face, was it you?

MARTIN
Whom does he call thin-face?

SANDFORD
No prating, loon, but tell me who he was,
That I may brain the villain with my staff,
That seeks Sir Walter's life?
You miserable men,
With minds more slavish than your slave's estate,
Have you that noble bounty so forgot,
Which took you from the looms, and from the ploughs,
Which better had ye follow'd, fed ye, cloth'd ye,
And entertain'd ye in a worthy service,
Where your best wages was the world's repute,
That thus ye seek his life, by whom ye live?
Have you forgot too,
How often in old times
Your drunken mirths have stunn'd day's sober ears,
Carousing full cups to Sir Walter's health?--
Whom now ye would betray, but that he lies
Out of the reach of your poor treacherie