ook it from had a coronet upon her handkerchief.
Here, take my cloak, and go, secure the
premises. {101}

_Cher_. I will secure 'em. [_Exit_.

_Bon_. But, hark'ee, where's Hounslow and Bagshot?

_Gib_. They'll be here to-night.

_Bon_. D' ye know of any other gentlemen o' the pad on
this road?

_Gib_. No.

_Bon_. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the house
just now.

_Gib_. The devil! how d'ye smoke 'em? {110}

_Bon_. Why, the one is gone to church.

_Gib_. That's suspicious, I must confess.

_Bon_. And the other is now in his master's chamber; he
pretends to be servant to the other; we 'll call him
out and pump him a little.

_Gib_. With all my heart.

_Bon_. Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin! [_Calls_.

_Enter Archer, combing a periwig and singing_.

_Gib_. The roads are consumed deep, I'm as dirty as Old
Brentford at Christmas.--A good pretty fellow
that; whose servant are you, friend? {120}

_Arch_. My master's.

_Gib_. Really!

_Arch_. Really.

_Gib_. That 's much.--The fellow has been at the bar by
his evasions.--But, pray, sir, what is your master's
name?

_Arch_. _Tall, all, dall!_--[_Sings and combs the periwig._]
This is the most obstinate curl--

_Gib_. I ask you his name?

_Arch_. Name, sir--_tall, all, doll!_--I never asked him
his name in my life.--_Tall, all, doll!_ {131}

_Bon_. What think you now? [Aside to Gibbet.

_Gib_. [_Aside to Boniface_.] Plain, plain, he talks now as
if he were before a judge.--[_To Archer_.] But pray,
friend, which way does your master travel?

_Arch_. A-horseback.

_Gib_. [_Aside_.] Very well again, an old offender, right--

[_To Archer_.] But, I mean, does he go upwards or
downwards?

_Arch_. Downwards, I fear, sir.--_Tall, all!_ {140}

_Gib_. I 'm afraid my fate will be a contrary way.

_Bon_. Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Martin, you 're very arch.
This gentleman is only travelling towards Chester,
and would be glad of your company, that's all.--
Come, captain, you'll stay to-night, I suppose?
I'll show you a chamber--come, captain.

_Gib_. Farewell, friend!

_Arch_. Captain, your servant.--[_Exeunt Boniface and
Gibbet._] Captain! a pretty fellow! 'Sdeath, I
wonder that the officers of the army don't conspire
to beat all scoundrels in red but their own. {151}

_Re-enter Cherry_.

_Cher_. [_Aside_.] Gone, and Marti