_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_.] The devil's in this fellow! he fights, loves, and banters, all in a breath.--[_Aloud_.] Here's a cord that the rogues brought with 'em, I suppose. {20} _Arch_. Right, right, the rogue's destiny, a rope to hang himself.--Come, my lord--this is but a scandalous sort of an office [_Binding the Highwaymen together_.] if our adventures should end in this sort of hangman-work; but I hope there is something in prospect, that-- _Enter Scrub_. _Arch_. Well, Scrub, have you secured your Tartar? _Scrub_. Yes, sir, I left the priest and him disputing about religion. _Aim_. And pray carry these gentlemen to reap the benefit of the controversy. {31} [_Delivers the prisoners to Scrubs who leads them out_. _Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sister, how came my lord here? _Dor_. And pray, how came the gentleman here? _Mrs. Sul_. I 'll tell you the greatest piece of villainy-- [_They talk in dumb show_. _Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have been more successful in your adventures than the housebreakers. _Arch_. No matter for my adventure, yours is the principal.--Press her this minute to marry you--now while she's hurried between the palpitation of her fear and the joy of her deliverance, now while the tide of her spirits is at high-flood--throw yourself at her feet, speak some romantic nonsense or other --address her, like Alexander in the height of his victory, confound her senses, bear down her reason, and away with her.--The priest is now in the cellar, and dare not refuse to do the work. _Re-enter Lady Bountiful_. _Aim_. But how shall I get off without being observed? _Arch_. You a lover, and not find a way to get off!--Let me see-- _Aim_. You bleed, Archer. {50} _Arch_. 'Sdeath, I 'm glad on 't; this wound will do the business. I 'll amuse the old lady and Mrs. Sullen about dressing my wound, while you carry off Dorinda. _Lady Boun_. Gentlemen, could we understand how you would be gratified for the services-- _Arch_. Come, come, my lady, this is no time for compliments; I 'm wounded, madam. _Lady Boun., Mrs. Sut_. How! wounded! _Dor_. I hope, sir, you have received no hurt? {60} _Aim_. None but what you may cure---- [_Makes love in dumb show_. _Lady Boun_. Let me see your arm, sir--I must have some powder-sugar to stop the blood.--O me! an ugly gash; upon my word, sir, you must go into bed. _Arch_. Ay, my lady, a bed would do very well.--[_To Mrs. Sullen_.] Madam, will you do me the favour to conduct me to a chamber. _Lady Boun_. Do, do, daughter--while I get the lint and the probe and the plaster ready. [_Runs out one way, Aimwell carries off Dorinda another_. _Arch_. Come, madam, why don't you obey your mother's commands? {71} _Mrs. Sul_. How can you, after what is passed, have the confidence to ask me?