SCENE changes to an Orchard.
—So! —We are got well in; Heaven send us safe out agen!
Father, Father! don't trouble Heaven in this Affair, you'l never prosper.
Bless me, my Lord! Prayers are natural to me: if you are so wicked to neglect 'em, I can't help that.
Come, mind your Bus'ness: where's the Whistle?
Here, here, — now for a delicious Vision, Of a peeping Angel!
The Signal's given, and here's the Answer.
We are discover'd; and if I stay, all other Opportunities are left for ever. —
—Why Friar! Friar! Father! You are not hurt, the Bul∣lets went over our Heads.
Are ye sure I am not hurt? — I did conceive I was kill'd.
No, no; but I know not what you may be if you stay — Follow me, with speed.
Oh Pox! the Devil of all ill Luck! ruin'd, hang'd,* drawn, and quarter'd! No possibility of esca∣ping without a Miracle, — and I can't have the Im∣pudence to expect a Miracle.—
Search well, Boys! leave not a Shrub or Tuft of Grass unexamin'd — Five Pistoles to him who finds One.
I warrant ye, my Lord! let us alone for ferreting 'em! — Soho! what have we here —A Pox, 'tis a Stub of a dead Tree — 'thas broke my Nose.
Oh Rogue! Are ye there? I'll be with ye presently.