_Lo._ Not a Jot, Sir, he divines as little for himself, as he does for other Folks. _Young Fash._ Will he bring Nurse with him? _Lo._ Yes. _Young Fash._ That's well; where's _Coupler_? _Lo._ He's half way up the Stairs taking Breath; he must play his Bellows a little, before he can get to the top. _Enter ~Coupler~._ _Young Fash._ O here he is. Well, old Phthisick, the Doctor's coming. _Coup._ Wou'd the Pox had the Doctor----I'm quite out of Wind [_To Lo._] Set me a Chair, Sirrah. Ah----[_Sits down._] [_To Young Fash._] Why the Plague can'st not thou lodge upon the Ground-Floor? _Young Fash._ Because I love to lie as near Heaven as I can. _Coup._ Pr'ythee let Heaven alone; ne'er affect tending that way: Thy Center's downwards. _Young Fash_. That's impossible. I have too much ill Luck in this World, to be damn'd in the next. _Coup._ Thou art out in thy Logick. Thy Major is true, but thy Minor is false; for thou art the luckiest Fellow in the Universe. _Young Fash_. Make out that. _Coup._ I'll do't: Last Night the Devil ran away with the Parson of _Fat-goose_ Living. _Young Fash._ If he had run away with the Parish too, what's that to me? _Coup._ I'll tell thee what it's to thee. This Living is worth five hundred Pound a-year, and the Presentation of it is thine, if thou can'st prove thyself a lawful Husband to Miss _Hoyden_. _Young Fash._ Say'st thou so, my Protector! then I'gad I shall have a Brace of Evidences here presently. _Coup._ The Nurse and the Doctor? _Young Fash._ The same: The Devil himself won't have Interest enough to make them withstand it. _Coup._ That we shall see presently: Here they come. _Enter ~Nurse~ and ~Chaplain~; they start back, seeing ~Young Fashion~._ _Nurse._ Ah Goodness, _Roger_, we are betray'd. _Young Fash._ [_Laying hold on them._] Nay, nay, ne'er flinch for the matter; for I have you safe. Come to your Trials immediately; I have no time to give you Copies of your Indictment. There sits your Judge.-- _Both kneeling._ Pray, Sir, have Compassion on us. _Nurse._ I hope, Sir, my Years will move your Pity; I am an aged Woman. _Coup._ That is a moving Argument, indeed! _Coup._ [_To Bull._] Are not you a rogue of Sanctity? _Bull._ Sir, with respect to my Function, I do wear a Gown. I hope, Sir, my Character will be consider'd; I am Heaven's Ambassador. _Coup._ Did not you marry this vigorous young Fellow to a plump young buxom Wench? _Nurse._ [_To Bull._] Don't confess, _Roger_, unless you are hard put to it, indeed? _Coup._ Come, out with't--Now is he chewing the Cud of his Roguery, and grinding a Lye between his Teeth. _Bull._ Sir,----I cannot positively say----I say, Sir----positively I cannot say---- _Coup._ Come, no Equivocation, no Roman Turns upon us. Consider thou stand'st upon Protestant Ground, which will slip from under thee like a _Tyburn_ Car; for in this Country we have always ten Hangmen for one Jesuit.