Lady Brute. _I'm all Obedience. First then, know all, before our Doom is fixt, The Third Day is for us----_ _Bel._ _Nay, and the Sixth._ Lady Brute. _We speak not from the Poet now, nor is it His Cause--(I want a Rhyme)_ _Bel._ _That we sollicit._ Lady Brute. _Then sure you cannot have the Hearts to be severe And damn us----_ _Bel._ _Damn us! Let 'em if they dare._ Lady Brute. _Why, if they should, what Punishment remains?_ _Bel._ _Eternal Exile from behind our Scenes._ Lady Brute. _But if they're kind, that Sentence we'll recal. We can be grateful----_ _Bel._ _And have wherewithal._ Lady Brute. _But at Grand ~Treaties~ hope not to be trusted, Before ~Preliminaries~ are adjusted._ _Bel._ _You know the Time, and we appoint the Place; Where, if you please, we'll meet and sign the Peace._ [Illustration] Upon the revival of this Play in 1725, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ thought proper to write the two following Scenes, in the room of those printed Page 166,-168, 173, _&c. &c._ +ACT+ IV. +SCENE+, _Covent-Garden_. _Enter Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. with Swords drawn._ _Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead? _Col. Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze. _Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd? _Col. Bully._ Aye, 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._ _Col. Bully._ How now! what have we got 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 Journeyman Woman's 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. _Tayl._ 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. _Tayl._ An't please you, it's my Lady's short Cloak and Sack. _Sir John._ What Lady, you Reptile, you? _Tayl._ My Lady _Brute_, an't please your Honour.