_1 Rob._ Sung like true and noble boys of plunder! Isn't this free-booting spirit, now, better than leading a cowardly life of musty regularity? Honesty is a scarce and tender commodity, that perishes almost as soon as it appears:--the rich man is not known to have it, for fortune has never put him to the test; and the poor blockhead, that boasts on't, dies for hunger in proving it. _2 Rob._ Right; it is but a fever in the blood, that soon kills the patient if it be not expelled.--I had the fever, once. _4 Rob._ And what was your cure for't? _2 Rob._ Starving. Ever while you live, starve your fever:--when honesty is your case, only call in poverty as physician, and the disease soon yields to his prescriptions. _1 Rob._ Pshaw! plague on your physic? aren't we taking our wine in the full vigour of roguery? This it is [_Holding the Bottle._] that gives courage to poor knaves to knock down rich fools, in the forest;--just as it gives rich fools spirits to sally forth, and break poor knaves' heads, in the town. Come, as I'm Lieutenant, and our Captain is prowling, let's to business:--read over the list of our yesterday's booties. _2 Rob._ Agreed! but, first, one more round; one health; one general health, and then we'll to't. _1 Rob._ Here it is then--here's a short, little, snug, general health, that hits most humours; it suits your soldier, your tithe parson, your lawyer, your politician, just as well as your robber. _All._ Now for it. [_All rise._ _1 Rob._ Plunder! [_Drinks._ _All._ Plunder! [_All drink._ _1 Rob._ And now for the list. _2 Rob._ [Reads.] _Hexham Forest, May 14th, 1462. Taken, from a single lady, on a pad nag, eleven pounds, four groats, and a portmanteau.--She seemed marvellously frightened, and whispered thanks, privately, for her delivery._ _1 Rob._ No uncommon case--she isn't the first single lady who has been delivered, and whispered thanks for it in private. 2 Rob. _From a Scotch laird, on his way from London to Inverness--by Philip Thunder in gloves; the whole provision for his journey, viz. one cracked angel, and two sticks of brimstone._ _1 Rob._ Who has his horse? _2 Rob._ No one; the Scotch laird travelled on foot. _From a pair of justices of the peace, a foundered mare, a black gelding, two doublets, and a hundred marks in gold--they were tied back to back;--_ _1 Rob._ Good! It is but right, that they who bind over so many, should at last, be bound over themselves; and a wise thief is ever bound in justice to put a foolish justice in binding. 2 Rob. _Back to back, and hoodwinked--They were left, lamenting their fate, in the forest._ _1 Rob._ Lament! O villains!--To be in the commission of the peace, and not know that Justice should always be blind. Marry, a good day! Are there any more? _2 Rob._ Only a fat friar, who was half plundered, and saved himself by flight.