Chapter XXXIV: Act IV: SCENE, Covent Garden

_Enter Lord Rake, Sir John, &c., with Swords drawn_

_Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead?

_Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.

_Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd!

_Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently.

_Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come you have a good Cause to fight
for, there's a Man murder'd.

_Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd, for I'll
sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his body upon his
wooden Chair.

_Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm_

_Bully._ How now; what have we here? a Thief.

_Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief.

_Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here; let the General examine
him.

_Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a Hundred Pound I
find him guilty in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking
Rascal.

Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of
what opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them--I shall guess at
your Morals.

_Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journyman Taylor.

_Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft
by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your
Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.

_Taylor._ Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don't abuse me; indeed I'm an
honest Man, and a good Workman, tho I say it, that shou'd not say it.

_Sir John._ No words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.

_Lord Rake._ Let me see what's in that Bundle.

_Taylor._ An't please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish's Gown.

_Lord Rake._ The Doctor's Gown!--Hark you, Knight, you won't stick at
abusing the Clergy, will you?

_Sir John._ No. I'm drunk, and I'll abuse anything--but my wife; and
her I name--with Reverence.

_Lord Rake._ Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the
Watch: That tho the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon
the Church.

_Sir John._ A generous Design--by all the Gods--give it me.

(_Takes the Gown, and puts it on._)

_Taylor._ O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the
Gown.

_Sir John._ Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin--go
home, and be happy.

_Taylor._ (_Pausing._) I think I had e'en as good follow the
Gentleman's friendly Advice; for if I dispute any longer, who knows
but the Whim may take him to case me? These Courtiers are fuller of
Tricks than they are of Money; they'll sooner cut a Man's Throat, than
pay his Bill. (_Exit Taylor._)

_Sir John._ So, how d'ye like my Shapes now?

_Lord Rake._ This will do to a Miracle; he looks like a Bishop going
to the Holy War. But to your Arms, Gentlemen, the Enemy appears.

_Enter Constable and Watch_

_Watchman._ Stand! Who goes there? Come before the Constable.

_Sir John._ The Constable's a Rascal--and you are the Son of a Whore.

_Watchman._ A good civil answer for a Parson, truly!

_Constable._ Methinks, Sir, a Man of your Coat might set a better
Example.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, I'll make you know--there are Men of my Coat can
set as bad Examples--as you can, you Dog you.

(_Sir John strikes the Constable. They knock him down, disarm him,
and seize him. Lord Rake &c. run away._)

_Constable._ So, we have secur'd the Parson however.

_Sir John._ Blood, and Blood--and Blood.

_Watchman._ Lord have mercy upon us! How the wicked Wretch raves of
Blood. I'll warrant he has been murdering some body tonight.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, there's nothing got by Murder but a Halter: My
Talent lies towards Drunkenness and Simony.

_Watchman._ Why that now was spoke like a Man of Parts, Neighbours;
it's pity he should be so disguis'd.

_Sir John._ You lye--I'm not disguis'd; for I am drunk bare-fac'd.

_Watchman._ Look you here again--This is a mad Parson, Mr. Constable;
I'll lay a Pot of Ale upon's Head, he's a good Preacher.

_Constable._ Come, Sir, out of Respect to your Calling, I shan't put
you into the Round house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-Room
till Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.

_Sir John._ You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have
overcome me--But if I can't do Mischief, I'll think of Mischief--in
spite of your Teeth, you Dog you. (_Exeunt._)[52]

YOU NEVER CAN TELL