te Protector--

_Hews._ Again-- say _Cromwel_.

_Clerk._ --Cromwel-- six thousand Pound in _Jacobus's_.

_War._ 'Sbread, sike a Sum wou'd make me honour the Face of aud _Jemmy_.

_Clerk._ To Mr. _Ice_ six thousand Pound; to Mr. _Loether_, late
Secretary to his High--

_Whit._ To _Oliver Cromwel_ say, can you not obey Orders?

_Clerk._ --Secretary to _Oliver Cromwel_-- two thousand nine hundred
ninety nine Pounds for Intelligence and Information, and piously
betraying the King's Liege People.

_War._ Haud, haud, Sirs, Mary en ya gift se fast ya'll gif aud away from
poor _Archibald Johnson_.

_Whit._ Speak for your self, my Lord; or rather, my Lord, do you speak
for him.
[To _Lam._

_Lam._ Do you move it for him, and I'll do as much for you anon.
[Aside to _Whit._

_Whit._ My Lord, since we are upon Gratifications,-- let us consider the
known Merit of the Lord _Wariston_, a Person of industrious Mischiefs to
the malignant Party, and great Integrity to us, and the Commonwealth.

_War._ Gued faith, an I's ha been a trusty Trojon, Sir, what say you,
may very gued and gracious Loords?--

_Duc._ I scorn to let a Dog go unrewarded; and you, Sir, fawn so
prettily, 'tis pity you shou'd miss Preferment.

_Hews._ And so 'tis; come, come, my Lords, consider he was ever our
Friend, and 'tis but reasonable we shou'd stitch up one another's broken
Fortunes.

_Duc._ Nay, Sir, I'm not against it.

_All._ 'Tis Reason, 'tis Reason.

_Free._ Damn 'em, how they lavish out the Nation!

_War._ Scribe, pretha read my Paper.

_Hews._ Have you a Pertition there?

_Cob._ A Petition, my Lord.

_Hews._ Pshaw, you Scholards are so troublesome.

_Lam._ Read the Substance of it. [To the Clerk.

_Clerk._ That your Honours wou'd be pleas'd, in consideration of his
Service, to grant to your Petitioner, a considerable Sum of Money for
his present Supply.

_Fleet._ Verily, order him two thousand Pound--

_War._ Two thousand poond? Bread a gued, and I's gif my Voice for
_Fleetwood_.
[Aside.

_Lam._ Two thousand; nay, my Lords, let it be three.

_War._ Wons, I lee'd, I lee'd; I's keep my Voice for _Lambert_-- Guds
Benizon light on yar Sol, my gued Lord _Lambert._

_Hews._ Three thousand Pound! why such a Sum wou'd buy half _Scotland_.

_War._ Wons, my Lord, ya look but blindly on't then: time was, a Mite
on't had bought aud shoos in yar Stall, Brother, tho noo ya so abound in
_Irish_ and Bishops Lands.