_Young Fash._ Sir, if you'll take my Advice, we'll go a shorter way to work; I find, whoever this Spark is, he knows nothing of my being privately here; so if you pretend to receive him civilly, he'll enter without Suspicion; and as soon as he is within the Gate, we'll whip up the Drawbridge upon his Back, let fly the Blunderbuss to disperse the Crew, and so commit him to Gaol. Sir _Tun._ I'gad, your Lordship is an ingenious Person, and a very great General; but shall we kill any of 'em, or not? _Young Fash._ No, no, fire over their Heads only to fright them; I'll warrant the Regiment scours when the Colonel's a Prisoner. Sir _Tun._ Then come along, my Boys, and let your Courage be great----for your Danger is but small. [_Exeunt._ +SCENE+, _The Gate._ _Enter Lord ~Foppington~ and ~Followers~._ _Lord Fop._ A Pax of these Bumkinly People, will they open the Gate, or do they desire I shou'd grow at their Moat-side like a Willow? [_To the Porter._] Hey, Fellow--Pr'ythee do me the Favour, in as few words as thou canst find to express thyself, to tell me whether thy Master will admit me or not, that I may turn about my Coach, and be gone. _Por._ Here's my Master himself now at hand, he's of Age, he'll give you his Answer. _Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, and his Servants._ Sir _Tun._ My most noble Lord, I crave your pardon for making your Honour wait so long; but my Orders to my servants have been to admit no body without my Knowledge, for fear of some Attempts upon my Daughter, the Times being full of Plots and Roguery. _Lord Fop._ Much Caution, I must confess, is a Sign of great Wisdom: But, stap my Vitals, I have got a Cold enough to destroy a Porter--He, hem-- Sir _Tun._ I am very sorry for't, indeed, my Lord; but if your Lordship please to walk in, we'll help you to some brown Sugar-Candy. My Lord, I'll shew you the way. _Lord Fop._ Sir, I follow you with pleasure. [_Exeunt._ [_As Lord ~Foppington~'s Servants go to follow him in, they clap the Door against ~La Varole~._ _Servants within._ Nay, hold you me there, Sir. _La Var._ _Jernie, qu'est ce que veut dire ça?_ Sir _Tun._ [_Within._]----Fire, Porter. _Porter fires._----Have among you, my Masters. _La Var._ _Ah je suis mort_-- [_The servants all run off._ _Port._ Not one Soldier left, by the Mass. +SCENE+ _changes into a Hall._ _Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, the ~Chaplain~ and ~Servants~, with Lord ~Foppington~ disarm'd._ Sir _Tun._ Come, bring him along, bring him along. _Lord Fop._ What the Pax do you mean, Gentlemen, is it Fair time, that you are all drunk before Dinner?