_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 Martin here! I hope he did not listen; I would have the merit of the discovery all my own, because I would oblige him to love me. --[_Aloud_] Mr. Martin, who was that man with my father? _Arch_. Some recruiting Serjeant, or whipped-out trooper, I suppose. _Cher_. All's safe, I find. [_Aside_ _Arch_. Come, my dear, have you conned over the catechise I taught you last night? {161} _Cher_. Come, question me. _Arch_. What is love? _Cher_. Love is I know not what, it comes I know not how, and goes I know not when. _Arch_. Very well, an apt scholar.--[_Chucks her under the chin_.] Where does love enter? _Cher_. Into the eyes. _Arch_. And where go out? _Cher_. I won't tell ye. {170} _Arch_. What are the objects of that passion? _Cher_. Youth, beauty, and clean linen. _Arch_. The reason? _Cher_. The two first are fashionable in nature, and the third at court. _Arch_. That's my dear.--What are the signs and tokens of that passion?