The poor under Hostler being thus descended from his place of Torment, was almost in as pitiful a plight as one taken down from the Gibbet half hanged to be quartered; he had as little motion or sense; for he was almost suffocated with the smoak that ascended and flew up his nose, and down his throat; and as Malefactors do (as they say) piss for fear, or some other cause, so had he done; and not only so, but we could perceive somewhat else, of a yellowish colour, that had soaked through his breeches, run down his stockings, so that few would touch him; but at length, the Hostler, his superiour, considering his condition and former good service, took him up, and carried him to his bed adjoyning to the Stable; where, with the assistance of _Aqua vitæ_, he was soon brought to his former senses. Our young Rogue in the mean time lying in the Hay-loft over him, laughing at the roguery he had done, and the groans he heard the poor fellow fetch, were as so many instruments of musick to raise his laughter to the higher pitch. This Rogue, who wanted nothing so much as Roping, or a good Cat of nine tailes, now escap’d with out either; there being no body in the whole house that had any mind to meddle with him; he was threatned by some, whilst others only laughed at him, and he went merrily about his business: and to conclude, much company coming that day to the house, and the particulars of the Adventure being told them, they sent for the boy and Hostler; and after several questions, and much laughter, they made them drink to one another, and become Friends.